Eye For An Eye
by Chianna
Summary: Nick can handle any trouble square on. But what happens when the avenging brother of a dead bank robber goes after his own brand of revenge: more trouble for Heath!
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer**:  All things Barkley belong to the PTBs and I am not making one red cent on any of it.  

**Summary**:  Nick can handle any trouble square on.  But what happens when the avenging brother of a dead bank robber goes after his own brand of revenge: An Eye for an Eye.

**Eye For An Eye** by Chianna

The sun, high in the sky, blistered the barren landscape for as far as the eye could see.  Sitting quietly, biding his time, Lance Rawlston chewed on a dry blade of grass and contemplated his revenge.  Often he pulled his hatred out like a box holding precious jewels and with a miser's greed pawed over each and every facet.  Charlie was still a boy in this brother's mind's eye when he died at the hands of an older and faster gunman.  It was no matter that a kink in the boy's nature had led him down the path to his ultimate destruction.  In fact, Rawlston had discarded the news that he had heard over the eight years of his brother's dark history.  Instead, he saw the tow-headed youth as he was on the day when he left the sixteen-year-old on the farm, intent on striking out on his own.  And he saw his brother as his "friend" and fellow gang member had described in his last few moments of life, blood soaking the ground and gasping out his last breaths as his black-clad killer loomed over him.

Rawlston had found his place in the world.  The world he chose was populated with gunpowder and the stench of death.  He had become a hired gun for a cattle baron up Montana way.  He was hundreds of miles away when Charlie and his friends - his gang - had tried to take the bank in Stockton one evening, just before closing, two years ago.  Grabbing the money, according to Charlie's friend, had been the easy part.  The cowed citizens in the bank hugged the wall and prayed for the whole ordeal to end as quickly as possible.  No, it wasn't until the robbers had gotten outside that the whole deal had gone south.  Charlie evidently had seen a woman on the sidewalk and decided that she would make the perfect shield.  Fooled into thinking that Stockton was populated by the same sheep that they encountered in the bank, Charlie underestimated the young woman's escort.  

Approaching them from behind as the couple strolled, Charlie only saw a couple that seemed touched by golden light and good fortune.  Dressed up and obviously heading for a dinner at the ritzy hotel across the street, Charlie noted that the man was not armed – and he made his move.  His arm shot out like a coiled snake, grasping the young woman by the upper arm and dragging her from the light embrace that held her hand on her companion's arm.  As a startled gasp escaped her lips, Charlie got the first hint that his plan might not work as he had originally intended.  The young man that had been so blithely walking down the street, spun in a tight circle and lunged at Charlie.  Eyes that had been sparkling with mirth just moments ago, narrowed into deadly determination.  

Charlie's intent may have been to shout out a threat to the woman to prevent her escort's meddling, but no more than, "I'll shoot her…" came out.  Overwhelming instinct to meet the danger running headlong at him urged him to point the gun away from the woman and toward the man, that in just a moment, looked to flatten him.  He brought the gun to bear just as the man's hands closed around his arm and pulled it away from its close proximity to his sister.  In that brief moment, after looking into the frightened eyes of the girl and the raging eyes in front of him, it was obvious that the two were kin.  

Honor among thieves is a rare commodity, more often practiced within the pages of dime novels than in real life.  Charlie's accomplices melted into the darkness of the alley and headed for their horses when things seemed to get complicated.  Charlie might have the money, they could reason, but it would do them no good if he was caught.  If he wasn't, well they'd wait outside of town and get their cut. 

The young man had pulled the gun away from his sister, drawing it closer to himself.  Charlie saw his chance and took it without remorse.  His finger still on the trigger, he pulled on it ever so slightly and it went off with a deafening roar.  He might not have immediately grasped that he had successfully placed his shot if the ear-piercing scream of the young woman, "Heath!" had not sliced thought the street.  

Forward momentum and determination continued to drive the young man toward the bank robber in an effort to shield his sister's escape as he ground out, "Run, Audra...run!"

Fleet as a young doe, the girl picked up her skirts and ran toward the lights of the hotel, screaming out names that Charlie thought sounded like "Jarrod!  Nick!"

Hearing his sister's departing, the man fell to his knees, his right hand grasping his wounded side as blood oozed steadily between his fingers.  

It was Charlie's unbridled anger that sealed his fate.  He hesitated for one fateful moment to aim his gun at the bowed head of the stranger that had fallen before him.  Failing to notice that people were streaming out of the hotel, he did not see the two well dressed men running toward them.  The taller brunette dressed all in black had grabbed a gun from a stunned cowboy and shot the robber in the chest before he could shoot the young man laying on the sidewalk.  

When word had finally reached him about his brother's death, Lance Rawlston devoured the news that he could find about the shooting.  If the story had been just about a thwarted bank robbery and a dead gunman, he doubted that the incident would have gotten more than a few lines in the news.  But it had been the Stockton Barkley's that thwarted the robbery.  It had been Heath Barkley that had been shot heroically protecting his sister.   Rawlston found articles in newspapers about the incident as far away as San Francisco and Denver.  

But for all the information that they had, they could not answer the questions that were burning in his mind – burning a hole where his heart had been and now only revenge resided like a cold hard lump of resolve.  

As Charlie lay on the ground watching the scene unfold before him, did he wonder why his brother did not run to his side and press a cloth to his wounds?  As the other was gathered up and carefully borne to the hotel to wait for a doctor, did he wonder where his brother was?  Why his brother wasn't there to hold him?  No newspaper, short of heaven would have the answers that Rawlston needed.  His only answers lay in creating the same terrible questions for Nick Barkley.  With that thought, he leveled his rifle and drew a bead on the rider picking his way through the pass below.  He sighted first on the blond head and then lowered his aim – and fired.  

TBC….


	2. Chapter 2

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**Eye For An Eye** by Chianna

Chapter 2

It's hotter than blue blazes, Heath thought, as he dragged the blue bandana across his forehead and retied it around his neck.  Not much could get Heath traipsing over Sonora way during the worst part of summer.  Scratch that – a few years back he might have made the effort to see Lupita.  But Lupita was married with three niños.  A gentle smile ever so slightly lifted the corners of the cowboy's lips in fond remembrance of flashing green eyes and ebony hair.  

Naw, this trip was to pick up a gold filigree hair bob that Heath had commissioned from a jovial German immigrant with devilishly delicate artistry.  His brothers had started a tradition of giving their mother a gift on her wedding anniversary, just as their father had for so many years.  This year was Heath's turn.  Maybe two years ago, Heath might have shunned the tradition.  The pain of abandonment, even if unintentional, was just too close to the surface back then.  Now, everything was different.  Heath had come to terms with living under the shadow of his father.  In a way he was still living with him as his mother would always remind them when either he or his brothers said or did something, "just like your father."

Better than half way home, he could almost taste the lemonade that Silas would make up fresh for him.  Same color as the yellow dust and stones that he and Charger were picking their way through.  And Mother and Audra would glide down the stairs and great him with welcoming smiles and warm hugs. 

Mother.  Heath smiled that gentle half smile once again.  How many men could say that they'd been lucky enough to be loved by two such singular women?  Both loved fiercely and with no qualifications.  Leah, his natural mother, sacrificed much to keep him fed and put a roof over his head.   Victoria Barkley had almost caused an unmendable able rift between herself and her children and risked social ostracism to accept Tom Barkley's illegitimate son.  

Heath remembered when he truly started to think of Victoria Barkley as his "mother."  Sure, in that first year, she had accepted him unconditionally and treated him as her own.  He'd even started to call her mother with a respect and fondness that he'd only held for one other.  But it was that terrible day and night, when Heath had been pinned under an overturned wagon laden with supplies for the families cabin.  Stuck in the mud, he'd jumped down to give the wagon a push.  With no warning, it toppled on its side and trapped his chest and legs under the muck.  

Thrown clear of the wagon, Victoria Barkely scrambled to his side, her gentle face stricken with fear that she tried to hide as she reassured him.  She'd always struck him as being delicate as a hummingbird, especially when surrounded by her three strapping sons.  But that day, as she wrestled boxes, crates and bags in an effort to lighten the load that was crushing him into the muddy creek bed – she was like a she-bear rescuing an injured cub.

Cold, pain and helplessness are some of the greatest levelers known to man.  Heath remembered how, gut shot and lying in the killing fields of the civil war, grown men would, with their dying breath, call for their mothers.  Time and distance making their plea impossible to fulfill.  That day, when his universe had been reduced to the few square feet that he could see about that damned wagon - he called for his mother, too.  His miracle was that his mother came for him, held his hand, comforted and saved him.  

He do anything to keep his new family safe, but he'd go to hell and back, risk his life and even his honor for his Mother.  

But today, all that was required was to bring his present back to the ranch so that three days from now he could make a gift of it to his "best gal."  Boy howdy, would Audra's eyes be green with envy when she got an eyeful of Karl's handiwork.  He might as well telegraph the German to start on a new bauble for his baby sister for her birthday just so she wouldn't pester him ta' death.  He fingered the hair bob in his breast pocket and gave Charger just a little nudge.  He couldn't wait to get home.  

It was just a moment later, when something that felt like a mule kick to his shoulder, threw Heath off Charger's back.  As he fell, he heard the sharp report of a rifle.  Guess it weren't no mule, he mused fuzzily.  Face down on the dusty trail; his last coherent thought was for his family and how disappointed he'd be to not see his mother's face when she put that fancy doodad in her hair.  

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**:  All things Barkley belong to the PTBs and I am not making one red cent on any of it.  

**Summary**:  Nick can handle any trouble square on.  But what happens when the avenging brother of a dead bank robber goes after his own brand of revenge: An Eye for an Eye.

**Eye For An Eye** by Chianna

Chapter 3

Rawlston surveyed his handiwork as he ambled down between the rocks.  For a moment, the sight of the youth lying in the dirt made him think of this brother.  He took a deep breath and screwed his eyes tightly shut for a moment.  Revenge, he determined.  That was no boy - just a tool.  A tool for him to exact his revenge.  

bvbvbvbvbvbvbvbvbvbv

The first indication that Heath had he was lying on the ground, was the heat of the sun beating mercilessly on his back.  Trying to gather both arms under him so he could push himself to a sitting position, Heath realized that his left arm was not following orders.  Then, he remembered.  He was shot off of Charger and laying in the dust on the trail.  

Hearing noises to his right, the blond cowpoke started to lift his head.  

"Naw boy, you'll not be wanting to turn your head.  If'n you get a good look at me, that would take all the fun outta this here game."

Something sounded so out of place about the geniality of the voice addressing him, it took a moment for the cowboy's pain-addled brain to catch up with the circumstances he found himself in.  

"Game, mister?  You call shootin' a man a game?"

"Well, I can imagine that from your vantage point, son, this might not feel much like a game."  As if amused by his observation, the disembodied voice chucked softly.  

"I'm not your son, you sonofabitch, and if I were, this would not be what I'd be call'n a sign of fatherly affection."  This time the stranger laughed out right.

"I do have to admit that it's gonna be a darn pity to kill you.  You have spirit, boy."  

At that last comment, the fallen man made a feeble attempt to right himself.  Heath couldn't believe this fella was going to shoot him in cold blood, but then everything about this situation seemed rather surreal.  He attempted to push up with his good arm and almost got the leverage he needed – getting himself a few inches off the ground.  Suddenly, a booted foot planted itself firmly between his shoulder blades and shoved him face down into the ground once again.   

"Uh, uh, uh." Said the stranger.  Heath could almost see the guy shaking his head in mocking censure.  "You behave yourself boy-o.  If you play your cards right, you'll survive to see your family once more."

Heath couldn't suppress a groan as his injured shoulder made hard contact with the earth.  He tried his best to clamp down on the wave of dizziness caused by the intense pain.  The comments his attacker made only further confused Heath's pain-dulled wits.

Heath gritted out, "Make up your mind mister.  Either you're gonna kill me or your not."

"Well now Barkley, rather impatient, aren't you?  Me, on the other hand – I'm the soul of patience.   Two years I've bided my time.  I think I'll be savoring this a bit longer - if you don't mind?"

With every utterance of the bushwhacker, Heath scoured his mind to place the voice.  He couldn't.  

"Mister, I'm pretty sure that I don't know you.  So if I don't know you, I don't know what I could'a done to you… to…to deserve this."

"Oh, Barkley, you underestimate yourself.  You and that older brother of yours - Nick's his name, I'm think'n.  You all left an indelible mark on my life - you playing the white knight and your brother, the avenging slayer.  I was just thinking that he might enjoy a game where we make you the King and see how he likes trying to ensure that you are not taken.  I want him to sweat out every moment until he holds your dead body in his arms."  

"More… riddles?"  It was getting hard for Heath to keep the strain out of his voice.  His head was starting to ache.  Did he hit it when he fell or was this fella's round about way of communicating taking its toll on him?

"You're sounding a bit peaked, boy, and I do want you to get home in relatively one piece to tell your bother about our little game.  Looks to me like you know your way around horseflesh, Barkley.  That horse of yours is not too far away.  If'n you're careful, you might have a ride back instead of having to walk.  And boy, if you turn this way before I saddle up and ride, I'll plug you right between the eyes.  And that would be a damned shame to rob a man of an opportunity for amusement that he's been looking forward to for nigh on to two years now."  

Heath heard steps retreating, the creak of leather as a body swung into the saddle and the sounds of a horse wheeling around and departing at a leisurely jog.  It seemed easier to roll over on his back than to try and lift himself up on one arm.  He was able to roll over to his right with relative ease, but almost regretted his decision the moment the bright sun struck his eyes.  White-hot needles of pain shot through his head sending companion waves of nausea through his gut. Taking a couple of deep breaths, Heath touched his hand to his temple and saw blood as he brought his hand in front of his face.  Heath was having trouble focusing on his hand or his horse a short distance away.   Must have took a harder knock to the head than I first thought, Heath guessed.

Charger was pawing the ground about ten yards away.  Heath called to him and thanked his lucky stars for the fact that his horse's faithfulness outweighed his instinctive skittishness at the scent of blood.  The cowboy needed the spare shirt in his saddlebag for a bandage, not to mention that he was beginning to think that the only way he was gonna get on his feet again would be to haul himself up by grabbing one of Charger's stirrups and pulling himself up.

Putting this plan into action, Heath whistled softly.  Charger came immediately, as if he'd just been awaiting an invitation.  Whickering softly at his rider, Charger gently nosed the cowboy's good shoulder as if to check him out for himself.  Heath chucklde even as the movement caused him more pain.  Grasping Charger's stirrup, he pulled himself to his knees and rose shakily to his feet.  He desperately needed to stop the bleeding.  Luckily, the shot had hit just below the collarbone.  Heath was not sure that he would have been able to ride a horse with the pain of a broken collarbone grinding away at him with each step the horse took.  But he had another very serious problem.  He knew the bullet had passed through from the damp warmth coursing down his back.  The exit would be a helluva lot messier than the entrance.  One-armed cowpokes were not very handy with patching up back wounds, but he'd have to give it a shot.  

Rummaging through his saddlebag, he pulled out one of his chambray shirts and a knife.  Heath cut strips by starting a cut and then pulling it apart by grabbing one end in his teeth and yanking to rend the material.  There was no hope of wadding a pad for the exit wound, so tying a couple of strips together to add thickness was the best he could do.  He would a pad for the front and tied the strips as tight as he could bear.  The pain that had been reduced to a dull throb, roared back with a vengeance.  His legs almost bucked and he hurriedly grabbed the saddle horn and leaned his head against Charger's warm side.  With horsy affection, Charger leaned ever so gently into his rider as well and dipped his head back over his shoulder as if to offer further encouragement.  

"Alright boy, this is the hard part - leastwise for me.  Just hold still old son.  I'm not feelin' up to any of your shenanigans tonight."  Continuing to whisper gentle words of encouragement, Heath put his left foot in the stirrup and grabbed awkwardly at the saddle horn.  What followed was the most inelegant belly flop-style mount that Heath was glad would never be witnessed by his teasing brother Nick.   

The sun was already beginning to settle over the golden California hills.   Numbly Heath realized that he still had twenty miles left to travel before he reached home.  And every one of those miles would be in the saddle, 'cause he was sure as the sun coming up in the morning, that if he got out of the saddle, he'd never get back in again.  

Leaning over Charger's neck, he whispered his most fervent desire to the only ears that could hear him for miles around.

"Get me home, boy.  Please, get me home."

TBC… 


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks for the kind reviews.  Nice to know that there are folks out there that love horse operas as much as I do.

**Disclaimer**:  All things Barkley belong to the PTBs and I am not making one red cent on any of it.  

**Summary**:  Nick can handle any trouble square on.  But what happens when the avenging brother of a dead bank robber goes after his own brand of revenge: An Eye for an Eye.

**Eye For An Eye** by Chianna

Chapter 4 

**"THAT BOY SHOULD HAVE BEEN BACK BY DINNER TODAY!  DOES HE THINK THAT THIS RANCH RUNS ITSELF?   NO, BY GOD!  IT'S RUN WITH THE BLOOD AND SWEAT OF THE PEOPLE THAT TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR WHAT NEEDS TO BE DONE AROUND HERE!" **

Nick punctuated the last statement by slamming the tumbler of whiskey on the edge of the pool table.  Jarrod peered at his own glass of amber intoxication.  Poor Silas.  Even with his diligent care, the pool table was covered with dents and other imperfections that resulted from his younger brother's over abundance of enthusiastic expressiveness.  He smiled slyly into his glass as he took a sip and felt it burn a pleasant warm down his throat.  Two years ago Nick peppered his communication with his younger brother with the word "boy" as a way to keep the younger man in his place.

Now it had a meaning so unlike its original intent.  When Nick referred to Heath as a "boy" now, it held a world of meaning that summed up his love and responsibility to their often enigmatic and somewhat disaster-prone younger sibling.  It was to Jarrod's perpetual amusement and gratitude that somehow, the brother that was most resistant to accepting the newest member of the family had become Heath's stalwart companion and staunchest defender.

"Come on, brother Nick. You know that it's a two-day ride to Sonora.  Heath's been gone for four days.  If there were no complications in picking up Mother's gift he should be back here within the next day."  

Jarrod could swear that Nick grumbled something about "why…always so damned reasonable…Jarrod…takes… all fun..."  But he couldn't be sure.  

The lawyer hid the smirk on his face by leaning over the table to line up his next shot.  Once completed, Jarrod added, "you know how worried Heath was that his gift would be just right.  It wouldn't hurt if you cut him a little slack.  He was as agitated than a penny bag of Mexican jumping beans sitting in the sun.  This gift to mother means a lot to him."

"You don't have to tell me that, pappy.  Hell, I was almost kinda worried that it seems to mean so much too him.  He's got nothing to prove to any of us.  Mother loves him like she loves us."  Nick crossed his arms in smug satisfaction.  "It's obvious to anyone with half a brain."  

Nick looked a little less smug as Jarrod called his pocket and knocked the only ball between him and victory into that very pocket with an understated flourish.  

"It's not that simple and you know it, Nick.  No one appreciates what he or she has half so much as if they lost it or had to do without.  You know that our little brother has experienced both in his short life.  We can only hope that in time Heath comes to feel that he deserves all the love this family has to give."  

"Harrumph!  If Heath could only see how mother reacts when he occasionally graces us with a genuine, enthusiastic smile or laugh, he'd never doubt how much she loves him.  Heck Audra's just as bad, if you ask me."

Having enough of playing pool, Jarrod moved back over to the bar and poured himself a couple of fingers of whiskey.  "I'm not sure of this Nick, but I don't think he doubts that we care about him.  It may be more to the point that he may be afraid that he might loose that love.  Or worse, that he might do something to not deserve it."

Never concerned about the upkeep of the furniture, Nick dropped himself into one of the leather arm chairs with one leg hooked over the armrest.  

"Well that's just great.  How do we explain to him that everything we've shared with him comes with no strings.  You'd think the boy believed that we were Indian givers or something."

"Would you be referring to your patented brand of _explanation_ that involves increasing your volume until either your opponent agrees or goes deaf?"  Jarrod saw Nick rise as if to get up as storm clouds raged across his brother's face and decided that he should add something just a touch more conciliatory.  "It's not what we say, Nick.  It's what we do.  Eventually he'll come to accept it, and lucky for us, he's one person that will never take what we offer him for granted."

Jarrod could tell that this was not a satisfactory resolution for his brother, simply from the look on his face.  Nick tackled his problems, wrestled them to the ground and walked away.  Messy people problems were never his forté.  Which may be why he was so attached to Heath.  He'd never had the problem walk away from him unresolved.  The conundrum that was Heath could do just that at the most aggravating of times for his brother Nick.  

"Well all I know is that if that boy is not here by tomorrow afternoon, I'm going after him if I have to drag him by the boots all the way back home."

Jarrod wondered if Heath appreciated Nick's style of affection.  Something told him that Heath did indeed.  

TBC… 


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, especially from the Nick fans!  I've been concerned that I keep some balance between all of the characters, so your encouragement (especially You, MrsNick!) is greatly appreciated.  For all you Heathens… I hope this chappie makes up for the heathless one previously.   - Chianna**

**If you don't want to browse through the board for earlier chapters, you can locate the first four here…**

****

**Disclaimer**:  All things Barkley belong to the PTBs and I am not making one red cent on any of it.  

**Summary**:  Nick can handle any trouble square on.  But what happens when the avenging brother of a dead bank robber goes after his own brand of revenge: An Eye for an Eye.

**Eye For An Eye** by Chianna

Chapter 5 

Only twenty miles from the ranch for Heath meant that he was practically in his own back yard.  Trying to keep alert, he thought about the distance.  Ten miles would be good travel for a herd, like the one that totaled almost three thousand they drove to the railhead last year.  'Bout 60 more miles to San Francisco as the crow flies he mused.  Head sixty in the other direction from Stockton and you hit Strawberry.  But boy howdy, more like a world away in experience and opportunities.  

Twenty miles in a day wouldn't be too bad for a man alone on horseback, though kind of pushing it when you take into account the rolling hills between himself and home.  

'Course that would be at a normal walk, Heath thought.  There had been nothing normal about this night's ride.  

Heath knew that Charger could sense his unsteadiness and had slowed his gate accordingly.  At least once, his numbed fingers had dropped the reins. He groped for them along Charger's finely arched neck.  Leaning forward, he became dizzy and wrapped his fingers around his horse's mane.  Disoriented, Heath suddenly imagined himself as a boy riding bareback on the swayback mare that was the only ride that he and his mother could afford for their ancient two-seat rig.  On the precious few times in his childhood when he was not working to help his mother put food on the table, Heath would jump on Molly's back and pretend that she was his noble steed - riding into battle with full armor to rescue some fair-haired maiden.  In his youthful imagination, the maiden always seemed to resemble his mother.  Lacking a bridle, he would weave his fingers into Molly's mane and use the alternating pressure of his rail-thin legs to steer the old girl.  Though Molly rarely moved faster than a bumpy trot, to Heath it seemed as if he was king of the wind.  

Sometime during his confused imaginings, he must have drifted out of consciousness.  Charger, sensing this, slowed to a stop.  No telling how long he waited for his rider to return to his senses.  When Heath had finally stirred, red, pink and coral stained the eastern sky with the first hint of sunrise.  His mind drifting again, he thought, red sky at night – sailor's delight, red sky at morning, sailor take warning.  Taking a long, shaky, breath – Heath feared that his bad luck was taking another turn – all for the worst.  As if to rub salt in a raw wound, the breeze picked up with a chill and dampness that heralded exactly what he feared.  Moving west toward the ranch, he would be heading right into the weather that he had just predicted in nautical rhyme.

At least, with daybreak, Heath could make out markers that told him exactly where he was.  He was only five miles closer to home.  He was so cold.  The only warmth, the unwelcome sticky wetness that made his shirt cling to his left side, did not bode well.  Oddly the pain of each step that Charger planted seemed to be the only anchor the young man had to consciousness.  

The next fifteen miles stretched out in front of Heath, making Stockton seem as distant as Shanghai.

BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVB

"Aw, Hell," Nick grumbled as he slammed the corral gate behind him.  The morning's chores had dragged on and time seemed to stand still.  His initial inclination when he woke up was to head out to meet Heath immediately.  

Pulling off his hat, Nick ran shaky fingers through his unruly black hair in frustration.  When Heath left four mornings previous, he had told Nick that he was picking up the trinket and heading straight back… "So don't worry big brother, I'll be back in plenty of time for you to catch up on all your harping about what needs to be done around this spread."  As he swung up onto his horse to leave, Heath tipped his white Stetson back, revealing a shock of golden hair and giving himself the air of a most innocent cowpoke.  

"Besides Nick, my heading out for a few days will give you a chance to see just how much you can get done without me bein' here to set the pace."  Accompanied by a roguish grin, Nick could hardly be too angry with his younger brother.  After two years, Heath's ease with Nick had been hard won and Nick tried never to take it too much for granted.

"I'll show you setting a pace," Nick grumbled good-naturedly and swatted Charger's rump.  The horse leapt forward to the accompaniment of the trailing laugher of his normally more reticent brother.  

Now, four days later, Nick could not pinpoint the exact reason for his concern.  Jarrod's calculations had been reasonable.  Heath should be home sometime today.  Maybe they should start getting concerned tonight, if the boy was not back by dinnertime.  The thought seemed reasonable, but a gnawing uncertainty.

Lunch hadn't been a pleasant affair.  Sensing Nick's volatile mood, the family concentrated on their food as if what they found under the next forkful of green peas would reveal the meaning of life.  He had, quietly fumed through lunch and more loudly stomped out of the house.  So here he was standing in front of the corral wondering why the hell he was waiting, when every instinct he had was to go ride out to meet Heath.  Worst he would hazard was some teasing from that boy about already having one mother.  Jarrod would probably tell him 'I told you so.' But Mother and Audra would understand.  Not even realizing where he where he was walknig, Nick found himself at the front door without realizing that his unconscious mind had decided before he had he made his decision.  Slamming the door open, Nick hollered, "Mother!  I'm taking a little ride."  The announcement was accompanied by the jingle and thumps of spurs on booted feet taking the stairs two at a time.  

BVBVBVBVBVBVBVVBVBVBVBVBV

Six hours had passed, long and hard.  Heath and Charger were now heading into a stiff wind that seemed to blow straight from the chilly waters of the Pacific Ocean.  Though the rain had not yet started, he already was chilled to the bone.  Heath knew from bad experience that the chill he was feeling was most likely intensified by the shock induced by blood loss.  He'd made it almost ten more miles, but now he could not feel his hands or feet.  Tremors shook him, making his seat on Charger far from secure.  At some point Heath had dropped Charger's reins and not attempted to pick them up a final time.  Instead, he grasped the pommel as firmly as he could and counted on Charger's familiarity with the way back to his warm, straw-lined stall at the Barkley ranch.  Best Heath could guess was that had happen about an hour ago.  His eyes ached and the only thing that seemed to sooth them was to close them against the wind and dimming light.  Each time they stayed closed for a little longer as he tried to stave off unconsciousness.

Passing out proved not to be the cowboy's undoing.  Rather, Heath's progress to the ranch was undone by an unexpected dip in the road.  Under normal circumstances, Heath would have compensated by shifting his weight back to make up for the horse's slight forward lurch as he picked his way down the mild depression.  Instead, Heath had been caught off guard and lost his tenuous hold, slipping sideways off of the saddle.  As the ground rushed up to meet him, Heath did his best to fall on his uninjured right side.  Yet the jolt of hitting the ground passed through his body like a seismic surge.  As the pain washed though him, Heath curled onto the ground as wave after wave of nausea and dizziness held him in its grip.   

Slowly Heath gained control over his body one last time.  Grasping Charger's stirrup with his good right arm, he closed his eyes and moved his legs to keep them out from under the horse's hooves.  Counting on Charger's obedience and training, Heath ordered him "Forward."  The horse dragged his rider toward some tree's that lined the well-worn path that would afford them some protection.  Charger stopped at the base of a large oak just as the first drops of rain started to fall.  

Barely clinging to consciousness, the pain blazing in his head and shoulder finally were taking their toll.  Heath whispered his thanks to his faithful companion standing over him as if to offer some small degree of shelter.  "We've done all we can, old son."  Overwhelmed with the hopelessness of his situation, Heath's eyes shut tightly to contain the threatening moisture that blended on his cheeks with the rain that had begun in full measure.  

Into the teeth of the wind, Heath murmured, "I've come to meet you more than half way, as usual, brother.  I need ya' to find me, Nick."   Finally he yelled just one word, "Nick!"

With his last strength he entreated softly, "Please, God, let him find me."  The threatening waves of darkness finally washed over him, allowing Heath to drift far from the pain, cold and forlorn hope and into the arms of welcome oblivion.

TBC…


	6. Chapter 6

**Nick's coming… but you know -  I had to add a little suspense…  Chianna**

**Disclaimer:  All things Barkley belong to the PTBs and I am not making one red cent on any of it. **

** Summary:  Nick can handle any trouble square on.  But what happens when the avenging brother of a dead bank robber goes after his own brand of revenge: An Eye for an Eye.**

**Eye For An Eye by Chianna**

**Chapter 6**

There is an old saying that goes, "Beware of what you wish for."  Heath's final plea "Please, God, let him find me," was answered, but unfortunately not by the person the young cowboy intended.  Instead, Rawlston, who had been tracking his victim's progress soon pulled his horse off the path and over to the tree that had afforded Barkley some protection.  

Dressed in an oilskin, Rawlston pulled up his collar and tugged down his Stetson.  Dismounting from his horse, he took in a scene that marked the possible dissolution of his perfect plan.  The boy was lying in the mud, soaked to the skin.  His horse stood above him, but shied slightly as the stranger approached, pawing the ground as if in warning.  

"Whoa boy.  I don't mean him no harm – at least not right off."  Barkley's chest at least was still rising and falling, if a bit shallowly.  "Thought mongrels were hardier than thoroughbreds."

Rawlston got his answer as Heath's hand instinctively reached for the gun in his holster, even though his eyes were still shut.  

"Ahh, it looks like Tom Barkley's brush colt has still got some kick left in him."  The bushwhacker halted the hand's progress by pressing it into the mud with his boot.  "A little life left in you is good kid, but I'm gonna have to object to 'ya pulling a gun on me."

Rawlston could see the young man's eyes struggle to open, but he was not worried.  The combination of the water mixed with blood from his head wound running into the boy's eyes and the poor light would be adequate to camouflage his features.  But taking nothing for granted, he pulled down his hat so as to shield most of his face in shadow.

"Back…to finish me off?" the blond weakly asked.  

The man looming above him chuckled.  "That head wound must be pretty bad if you forgot our conversation of yesterday.  I want you to get back home, boy.  I want your brother Nick to find you.  But now it looks like we have a problem.  You look plum tuckered out and you've still got five miles before you get home."

"My…pleasure…'ta ruin….your plans."

No doubt about it, Rawlston thought.  The kid was fading fast.  The fallen man wasn't gonna like the news that he was going to impart.

"Well now, I have 'ta say that I was a bit concerned that my best laid plans, as they say, were about to go awry.  You can imagine my concern.  But, I took quite a ride up the trail.  I'm here to tell 'ya that brother of yours is on his way.  Going kinda slow though.  Must not be in too much of a hurry.  Do have to admit that it's kind of strange that he's taking an ambling ride like that in this weather."

"If you think… I'm gonna lay here quietly while you lie in wait for my brother."

Rawlston was surprised at the fight left in the boy at the thought of something happening to his precious older brother.  

"Tempting – very tempting – Barkley.  I'll have to think on that.  But you know that would cut the game off much shorter than I anticipated.  Let's keep my options open."  Reaching down, Rawlston made a grab for Heath's neck.  Not knowing what to anticipate, Heath tried to raise his uninjured arm to protect himself.  The big man easily knocked it away and surprisingly, relieved the cowboy of the bandana that was tied around his neck.  

Confused, Heath didn't have long to figure out what his attacker intended to do with the bandana. Winding it around the fallen man's wrist, he tied it tightly and then secured it to the young man's belt.  Heath sincerely doubted that he could have gotten up, even if that hand had remained loose.  His other arm lay completely useless at his side.  His pain clouded mind could not grasp what the other man intended.

Upon securing Barkley's one good arm, the older man went to work on his own bandana.  Seeing this, Rawlston's intent was telegraphed to Heath faster than a lightening strike.  Trying to wriggle away from the other's approach, Heath only had his good elbow and feet to give him any purchase.  For truly the first time, Heath felt an all-encompassing, overwhelming fear.  But not for himself.  

Suddenly Heath understood why the stranger wanted to tie down his one good arm.  

Resolutely, Heath snapped his jaws shut as tightly as he could, but his effort was for naught.  Rawlston knelt next to the young man.  He chuckled as he witnessed the youngster's grim determination to prevent the inevitable.

"You could make this easier on yourself, you know."  Steely eyes spit cold blue fire back at the older man.  "Never you mind. We'll make short work of this.  Open wide for your medicine."  With that, Rawlston lifted his right knee and placed it on Heath's chest, leaning on the fallen man with much of his weight.  As an involuntary gasp escaped the cowboy's lips, the attacker jammed the knotted bandana into Heath's mouth and tied it behind his head.  As Rawlston shifted his weight to get off of Barkley, he heard a sickening snap.  

Unable to hold back, Heath groaned into the bandana as he felt the stabbing pain of at least one of his ribs giving from the pressure exerted upon it.  

Rawlston stood up and stepped back as if to admire his handy work.  Even in the fading light, he could see the pain in the young cowboy's eyes – pain and fear.  Soon, finally the last shred of whatever was left of Rawlston's humanity - and possibly his sanity - was shed like a snake's skin, never to return to him again.  Maybe at some later time he would remember that he was doing all this to avenge his brother.  But for now, he was only aware of reveling in his own ability to control another's fear and fate.  

However, if Rawlston could read minds, he would have realized that the man at his feet might be broken in body -  but far from broken in spirit.  He misread Heath's fight and dread – the cowboy had not feared or resisted so much for himself as for what he was concerned lay in wait for his beloved older brother.  

"Not so high and mighty now Barkley, are 'ya.  'Fraid that brother of yours will amble right on by without ever knowing that you're lying just a few yards from the road?  Or are you worried that I'll plug him before he can come to your aid?  Let's just see how this will all work out."  Heath heard metal freeing itself from its leather holster and tried desperately to see through the gloom.  He could just make out a silvery gleam as the gunman turned toward him.

Closing his eyes, Heath only hoped that the shot that would take his life would be loud enough to carry a warning to his brother and put Nick on his guard.  

Seeing the resignation on the boy's face, Rawlston laughed cruelly.  "You and your brother are not getting off so easy."  Pointing the gun to darkening sky, Rawlston, pulled the trigger three times, climbed on his horse and rode quickly away.  

Heath's confusion at still being alive was short lived.  All he could think of was the picture of the rifle snug in the leather sheath on the bush-wacker's saddle.  He feared that even now, the bastard was lying in wait, using Heath as a tethered Judas Goat, to lure his brother in for a kill. Looking up, he was sure now that the famed Barkley luck was deserting them. The lingering drizzle gave way to clearing skies and the brilliant full moon that would lead his brother straight to him and into the well lit sights of an assassin's bullet.

bvbvbvbvbvbvbvbvbvbvbvbvbvbvbvbv

Three gunshots boomed in the still, heavy air.  Though sounds in the hills were hard to gauge, Nick was sure that he was less than a mile from where the shots originated.  Thankful for the full moon that lit his way, Heath's older brother urged Coco into a gallop, instinctively knowing that the sound would lead him to his brother.  Just a few minutes later, his efforts were rewarded when he thought he saw the shape of a horse just about twenty or so yards off the road.

"Heath, are you out there boy?"  Silence greeted the dark cowboy's booming inquiry.

"Charger, is that you?"  As if to answer, the horse nickered, but held it's ground.  Nick threw himself off his horse and ran threw the scrub brush to where the horse stood.  With his eyes on the horse, Nick tripped over something just as he had almost reached Charger.  He heard a muffled groan and his head snapped down to see his brother lying in the grass and mud at his feet.  

Nick dropped to his knees, in shock at what he could make out of Heath's condition.  "Oh my God, Heath.  What happened?"   His hands roamed gently over his brother's body.  He untied Heath's right hand from where it was secured to his belt and checking the black stain on his brother's left shoulder that he feared was blood and the reason why his other wrist was not tied as well.  

Heath's head was shaking from side to side trying to say something through the bandana gag.  In his shock, Nick realized that he needed to take off his brother's gag if he expected him fill him in on what happened.  

"Settle down Heath.  This knot is wet and I can't get it untied if you keep thrashing around."  Finally, he pulled the hateful gag from his brother's mouth and cradled his brother's head.

Through his abused lips, Heath whispered fiercely, "Run, Nick…It's a trap…Ambush!"

TBC… 

****


	7. Chapter 7

**Eye For An Eye by Chianna**

**Chapter 7**

For a fraction of a moment, Nick looked positively flummoxed.  

"Leave you here?  Have you lost what little sense you have through that new hole in your head?"

"This is just… great.  Why don't… you talk just… bit louder, Nick?  If the moonlight…isn't adequate to get his sights... on us, he can just aim…aim at wherever he hears your… bellowing."

Nick proceeded to go over Heath's injuries.  The blood on his brother's head was matted in his hair.  The boy was soaked from the rain, so it was hard to tell how old the injuries were.  From the darkly ominous stain on his shirt and running down his pant leg, Nick feared that Heath had been shot some time ago.  He worried at the weakness in his brother's voice and the shortness of his breath.  But he smiled to think that there was enough sass in his fair-haired brother to give him a hard time.  

Heath struggled to raise his head and grabbed a fistful of his brother's shirt.  "Told me… he wanted to see you sweat…"

"He can do that any time I'm mending the fence on the south pasture.  Why the hell would he shoot you?"

"Said he wanted to see you watch…"

"Dammit, Heath.  Watch what?  You're not making any sense.  This is gonna have to wait until we get you to your room and your nice warm bed."

"Nick," Heath ground out at almost a shout in his frustration to finish what he needed to say.  He regretted it immediately, as the effort played havoc with his busted rib.  Gasping from the sharp pain, Heath stiffened.

Nick was now truly fearful for his brother's life.  Heath's head tilted back and his mouth opened like he needed to take a deep breath.  Instead, he panted small sips of air that didn't seem adequate for a bird.  

Roving his hands over the younger man's chest, Nick felt impotent to relieve whatever strain was preventing his brothers breathing.  "Heath, boy.  Try to relax.  Slow down and breathe deep for me…"  He couldn't keep the desperate pleading from his voice as he added, "please Heath.  Just try."  

Almost imperceptively at first, Heath's body started to relax.  After a few moments more, his breathing, though still labored, seemed to ease a bit.  Nick let out his own breath when he realized that he had held it as his brother struggled to draw in what his oxygen-starved body desperately needed.  

"Hurts… Nick."

"Your shoulder?"

"Ribs… think some broke."

"Heath, you hurt any where else?"  Nick tried to make the question sound light, but inwardly he was picturing how he was going to dismember the bastard that did this to his youngest brother.

Heath could sense his brother's anger and frustration and did the only thing he knew would help.  "Fell off my horse."  He paused for a moment for effect and to part his lips in a small crooked smile.  "Twice…but you tell anyone… and I'll swear you're a lying yella… dawg."

Nick could see through Heath's ploy to ease his big brother's mind.  Why not make him think it worked.  Gently smoothing the hair from his brother's forehead, he replied with false levity.  "Anyone getting one look at you right now would call me a liar if I said that you'd **_only_** fallen twice."

Forgotten for a moment, Heath's concern for his brother came crowding back into his thoughts.  "Need to be careful…  Didn't think he wanted to kill you… till he started talking funny and… gagged me to prevent warnin' you.  'Sides, you have to stay in one piece, cause… don't feel up to draggin' your big… hairy carcass all the way home."

Nick felt his chest swell with the love he felt for this found treasure he now called his brother.  "Well then, for your sake, I'll just have to stay in one piece.  Haven't heard a peep, so I think it's about time we took this party out on the road."  

For a moment, Nick wasn't sure where he could get hold on his brother that would not cause him pain.  Realizing it was almost impossible, he slid his left arm under his brother's back and helped him to a sitting position.  They both paused, awaiting a shot that did not come.  

Now in a better position, Nick was able to grasp his brother around his waist and drag him to his feet.  His greatest fear was preventing any movement that would cause a broken rib to drive itself into a fragile lung.  Nick's first impulse was to get Heath on a horse and fly from the area, hell bent for leather.  Instead, they would have to pick their way carefully.  If the horse stumbled, his brother's life could be forfeit.    Nick steered his brother's stumbling steps toward Coco.

"Charger's over there…Nick."

"Charger's had a long day, Heath.  Let's give him a rest."

"…can ride."

"Sure 'ya can… right until you fall off again.  Would that be the third or fourth time?"

Heath's head was resting on his chest, but Nick was sure that he heard Heath mumble something that should not be said aloud in polite company.

Nick added without being able to hide the note of concern in his voice, "Think you can make it up here on Coco, Heath?"

"Ain't a horse that can't be rode…"

Nick was worried, Heath's voice was slurring almost drunkenly.  "Not asking you if you can ride.  Anyway, don't finish that thought.  You'll jinx us."

"Juss give me a hand."

Heath put his good hand on the pommel but couldn't raise his right foot into the stirrup.  Nick gently took his foot and placed it in the metal loop.  Even with a boost up, Heath was barely able to swing his right leg over the horse.  The effort took its toll.  Heath's head bent low and he started taking those short, shallow breaths that so concerned his brother earlier.  

"Easy, Heath.  Deep and easy for me."

Nick swung himself easily onto Coco's back.  Gathering the reins, he turned the horse slowly down the path.  Heath gave a short whistle and Charger followed them apace.  There really was no choice.  He would have liked to stay off the path and under what little cover the trees afforded.  But Heath needed a smoother ride that could only be found on the well-worn path.  Nick could feel the itch of an anticipated bullet between his shoulder blades.

They had almost ridden half a mile when they heard a shot – and then another in rapid succession.  Nick flinched.  But there was no impact to either himself or Heath.

Then both brothers heard laughter followed by the echoing sound of just a handful of words that trailed behind them.  "Eye for an eye, boys.  But in my time, not yours."

TBC… 

_The phrase that Heath started and didn't finish has a few different ways it can be said, but here's I've heard it put in my neck of the woods:  "Ain't a horse that can't be rode, ain't a cowpoke can't be throwed."_


	8. Chapter 8

I've just wanted to take a moment to thank you all for sticking with me so far and all your kind words.  So by way of a thank you, the next installment is about three times my normal chapter length.  Hopefully it will do until I return on Monday.  Authors note:  I probably should have said this before, but Eugene complicates things, so I've chosen to ignore his existence. Eye For An Eye by Chianna Chapter 8 

The miles were going far too slowly for Nick's taste and naturally impatient inclinations.  He had to make a couple of detours to avoid washed out areas in the road.  The full moon still held sway high above their heads, lightening the vast landscape in an eerie silvery light.  Nick felt that he should have a sense of the vastness around him, instead he felt a sensation almost akin to claustrophobia.   No, maybe it was more like being trapped in a maze without an exit.  

Heath's reappearance thrust him into his least favorite type of situation – the kind where he didn't yet know the rules and felt little control over the circumstances.  The biggest of which was sitting unsteadily in front of him with a death grip on the saddle horn.  Heath had uttered not a single word as they rode as quickly as possible away from the threatening words that followed them over the rolling hills.  Nothing further had happened since that bastard had hollered, "An eye for an eye."

Nick could see that all of Heath's energy was woven into his effort to keep his seat.  He was trying so hard, Nick didn't have the heart to put his arm around Heath to steady him.  One of the many things that Nick respected about his brother was that he was an independent cuss.  Some had said the same about Nick.  He allowed himself a small smile.  They were brothers after all.  

As Heath's breathing became more labored, Nick knew that he no longer had the luxury of allowing Heath his pig-headedness.  

"Heath, you're too weak to hold yourself up straight enough to ease those ribs.  You've been hunching over more and more.  You'll drive that rib right through your lung any time now."

Heath's only answer was to straighten up.  A gasp escaped before he could prevent it.  Damn, he hated to show any weakness.  But not for the reason that most would think.  In the past two years, Nick had proven to be a man that you could depend on.  Moreover, he had shown the depth of his devotion to his family and to his newest brother - time and time again.  Heath knew, under that brusque exterior, beat a heart that would lead Nick's head off a cliff for the sake of one that he held dear.  If they were still in danger, Nick needed to think with his head.  Heath had seen Nick's heart in his eyes when he's seen Heath hurt before.  He'd seen Nick attempt rash actions in his defense, that were only prevented by cooler heads.  He desperately believed he needed to prove to Nick he would be all right.  Trouble was, he was not anywhere near all right. 

His voice soft and husky with concern, Nick cajoled, "Heath, boy, you can't keep this up much longer.  You need to rest."  Softer, in a voice that almost sounded like he was himself in pain, Nick pleaded, "Please, Heath, lean on me.  I'll never let you fall."

"Know that…brother Nick.  Juss' would hate …if someone saw us.  Think… we're going… steady."

Rolling his eyes as if for divine intervention, Nick chuckled,  "Give me patience." 

Nick knew this touch of humor was Heath's graceful way of giving in.  He wrapped his free arm around his brother's waist as gently as possible, drawing Heath back to lean against his chest.  As if he regretted admitting relief, a shaky sigh escaped from Heath's lips as his brother took his weight.  For the first time Nick realized that Heath's frame was shaking as if he were standing in the teeth of a bitter winter north wind.  The night was temperate, though damp.  This was not good.  Either Heath was in shock, fevered, or worse yet, both.  Nick got a partial answer as soon as his brother's back made contact with his chest.

The heat from his brother's body scalded Nick's chest and paradoxically sent an icy stab of fear through the big man's heart.  A raging fever.  How much more could Heath's body take.  Nick had to get him home and now they were so close.  There was only one thing to do.  Break the minimal cover of the shrubs and trees along the path and head straight across the openness of the south pasture.  No worries now about sinking in a hole at least.  Coco knew the south pasture like he knew the planks is his own stall.  Nick's faithful horse would get them across get them across.

Soon Heath's breathing slowed, but with an agonizing little gasp with every breath.  When the effort seemed too much for him, Heath's head also started to rest on his brother's shoulder.  Nick looked down to check to see if Heath had passed out.   A sheen of perspiration coated his face.  Nick always thought that though Heath's eyes could sparkle with wicked amusement, they often seemed to reflect the world weariness of a soul that lived longer than Heath's twenty-four years should allow.  Closed, Nick was surprised at how youthful and vulnerable Heath seemed.   

Heath's voice interrupted Nick's contemplation.  "Kind'a thirsty, Nick…Gotta canteen?"

"Sure Heath, got it right here."  Nick reached over to where he had it tied to his saddle.  Knowing Heath was down one arm, he unscrewed the cap and handed it to his brother.  Heath tried to raise the canteen to his lips, but almost full, it was too heavy for his flagging strength.  Nick gently grasped the shaking hand that held the canteen and boosted it up the remaining distance.  Heath took no more than a couple of sips before his head rested back on Nick's shoulder.  

"Need 'ta tell ya somethin'…'fore we get home and…all hell breaks…loose.  Feelin' kinda poorly, Nick.  Don't want somethin' to happen and not tell 'ya…"

"Shhh, Heath.  Save your strength.  I know everything I need to know, brother.  Known it for a long time now."  Nick then looked down with a fond smile.  

"Well you're gonna hear it…anyway.  Know…it all…pain in the…neck."

"Fine."

"These past two years…been the best.  Even the bad parts…'cause I had you and the family.   Somethin' happens to me…'s not your fault… y'hear?  That bastard said… wanted you to know what it felt…to have me die in your arms."

Nick gritted out, "Heath, no…"

"Don't worry.  Not giving up with…out one helluva…fight.  But…if it happens, need 'ya to know… there's no place…no where…I'd rather…be.  Want the family… to know.  Need you to tell 'em."

"Tell 'em yourself.  I can see the house from here, Heath."

"Loosing the fight…with the dark, Nick.  Think… Think I'll take a little nap.  You tell 'em, Nick.  Love 'ya all… too much."   His last reserves exhausted, Heath let the threatening darkness finally claim him.  

"Trying to get the last word again as usual, little bro?  Rest now.  I have a few things that I need to tell you.  And I will.  Big brother's prerogative, Jarrod likes to say – setting little brothers straight on things.  I can see the light in Jarrod's study from here.  Mother's room, too.   We're almost home."

Wrapping both arms to support his brother's dead weight, Nick knew he could rely on Coco to find his way home without guidance.

bvbvbvbvbvbvbvbvbvbbvbvbvb

It seemed ironic to Jarrod that he really didn't start to worry about Heath until Nick had left to go find their missing brother.  Maybe trying to temper Nick's impulsiveness distracted him from his natural inclination to worry as well.  Once Nick left, all his rational arguments seemed to scatter like so many leaves in the wind.  He'd been to bed.  It was well after midnight now, but sleep would not come.  So he went down to the library and tried to woo sleep with a snifter of cognac and a dreary legal journal.  So far, he had read the first paragraph of the first article countless times.  

Jarrod could hear the floorboards creak in the level above as well.  Mother was just as restless and had come down stairs to check on him once already.  Their anxiety fed off each other and magnified as they reflected on the other's concern.  So as to not make matters worse, they had agreed without the necessity of words to return to neutral corners.  So Jarrod worried in the library and mother in her room.  Not a great improvement in the situation, but in the very least they were less likely to wake up Audra.  

Before barely finishing that last thought, all hell broke loose.  As usual, it was heralded by a shout from Nick.  

"JARROD, MOTHER!  I NEED HELP! HURRY!"

By equine clairvoyance or from just the wisdom and experience of being a Barkley horse, Coco knew to head for the house and not the barn.  Nick tried to rouse his brother, but Heath was down for the count.  He'd have to wait until others arrived to hand down his delicate burden.  Jarrod came barreling out of the house, his mother and a sleepy-headed Audra in his wake.  Men were pouring out of the bunkhouse pulling on clothes as fast as they could.  

Jarrod took in the scene in an instant.  Normally, Nick would have vaulted off his horse, stomped up the steps and blown through the front door of the house like a Pacific ocean typhoon.  Instead, he sat quite still upon Coco, their youngest brother cradled in his arms.  

"Nick, what happened?" cried Victoria.  

"Not completely sure, Mother, and the telling of what I do know will have to wait."  Nick looked back to Jarrod.  "Let me hand him down to you.  Heath's got at least one busted rib and I'm afraid that it will do more damage if we're not careful."  

Snapping into action, Victoria directed one of the men to get one of the planks they used for mending the shed last week.  In less than a minute, the breathless ranch hand was back and laid the board on the ground next to Coco.  Hands reached up and relieved Nick of his burden with amazing gentleness.  Silas had already taken action and returned from the kitchens with strips of towels the men tied together to form belts that would hold the injured man in place under his arms, waist and knees.  

Nick drew some of the other men who were standing back toward him.

"The man that did this to Heath is out there."  Nick punctuated his words with a wide sweep of his arm that encompassed all the darkness that lay beyond the light pouring from the house.  "He's threatened to finish what he started.  I need some volunteers to set up a guard around the house."  

The outsider two years ago that had fought for the respect of this crew would have been honored to see that every man in the group stepped forward and raised his hand to assist.  

Nick busted out in a true grin for the first time all evening.  "All right then.  Jake, Rizzo and Mahoney, set up a perimeter and rotations for the watch.  Ciego, I need you to saddle up and head to town for Doc Merar and the Sheriff.  You all have my families deepest gratitude – and mine."  Nick turned on his heel and ran into the house, vaulting the steps in his hurry to return to Heath's side.

Jarrod and three other men each had a corner of the board that held Heath and they were cautiously negotiating the stairs.  The two men near the top held the head of the board near their waist, while Jarrod and the other man on the lower steps held the board chest high, ensuring that the injured man was held level.  

Once they safely reached the top landing, Nick took the steps two at a time and beat them into Heath's room only to find his mother finishing turning down his bed.  He needed something to do and fortunately Victoria knew her son only too well.  "Did you send someone for the doctor?"  Nicked nodded assent.  "Audra is gathering bandages.  Go to Silas and get a basin of warm water, soap and towels."  Nick raced out of the room just as the other men brought Heath.  

As carefully as possible, the men laid Heath on his bed.  She could barely recognize her son under all the mud and blood.  His clothes were torn in places and she decided it would be easier if she simply cut them off.   There was nothing to salvage.  She would need to bathe Heath and clean his wounds, Victoria thought.  His clothes were torn in places. Sadly, with so much experience, Victoria had known to layer a blanket between sheets under her son.  Once they'd cleaned him, the soiled sheet could be stripped and the clean one left beneath so as to not disturb her son.

Nick arrived with the basin.  Victoria insisted that the water was replaced over and over and Audra moved like a ghost through the room changing the water before it could be requested.  While in the room, his little sister's eyes rarely left Heath's face and her stricken look was almost too much for Victoria. She focused her concentration back to her son lying so still on the bed.  Each rasping breath, both a blessing and a curse.  Blessed because each breath kept him with them while the labored sound reminded all within earshot of the gravity of his injuries and illness.  Nick picked up another towel and helped as much as he could, but left his brother's wounds to her sensitive touch.  

Victoria was frightened for her son's life.  Most of his injuries looked to be at least a day old.  The edges of his shoulder wound were an angry red and telltale streaks were snaking away from the wound.  She did not need to be a doctor to diagnose the signs of blood poisoning.   His fever caused glowing red spots on a face far to pale from the loss of blood.  

Heath's head wound was just above his left temple.  His hair was matted with dirt and blood, so Victoria dipped her cloth in the solution of water and carbolic soap and held it as gently as possible over the gash so as to loosen the dried matter.  As she did this, Heath tried to turn his head away.  Hoping that he might be coming around, Victoria urged, "Wake up Heath.  Come back to us, sweetheart.  We're all here waiting for you."  

Nick, ever the most direct of her offspring, rephrased her cajoling words into an imperative.  "Stop keeping us waiting, boy.  Open those baby blues and stop scaring our mother."   Victoria shouldn't have been surprised Heath started to respond.  His eye's opened, betraying confusion, before focusing on his brother Nick's face.  Like seeking out the North Star, it seemed Heath's awareness and recollection coalesced the moment he set eyes on his older brother.   

Heath felt tender hands smooth back his hair and dab at the gash on his head.  Though her actions caused him some pain, the tender repetitive movements, the ever-familiar light lavender scent she wore and simply her loving presence gave him a feeling of homecoming and security that almost two days ago he feared he might never experience again.  

Heath tried to speak, but a sudden fiery band of pain around his chest robbed him of breath.  With his effort to communicate frustrated, Heath's breathing became more strained.  As he struggled for breath, all of his movements became more agitated and Victoria feared that he would do his injuries more harm.  

"Nick, he seemed to respond to you.  We need to calm him down."

Pull a chair up to the left side of Heath's bed and took his hand.  "Ok, Heath.  Remember out on the trail.  Breathe for me now – slow and easy.  Slow and easy – that's it Heath."  Looking down at his brother he saw the pleading in his eyes and knew that he needed something.  "Don't try so hard, Heath.  Catch you breath and give yourself a minute.  I'm not going anywhere."

Heath's breathing settled and he attempted again to tell Nick what he needed so desperately.  Barely above a whisper, he asked, "My shirt."  Nick looked at him confused until Heath moved his hand just enough to point out the remnants of his shirt lying on the floor in a forgotten heap.  "Please, Nick… shirt."  Nick walked across the room in confusion, but picked up the shirt and brought it over to his brother.  Heath motioned down and Nick laid it across his chest.  His hand struggled through the folds with agonizing slowness.  Jarrod arrived at the door, leading Doc Merar, when they paused to watch the scene unfolding in the room that had everyone else's rapt attention.  

Heath's hand found his breast pocket and encircled the small package within.  Almost instantly, he knew that something was wrong.  The silk material was stiff with blood and it seemed so much thinner than before.  No, dammit no, he thought, as he pulled the small package from his shirt pocket.  Laying it on his chest, his shaking hand tried to open the edges of the material, but the blood had dried and stuck the folds together.  Closing his eyes, he tried to hold back the tears of frustration when he heard Nick's stricken voice – an echo of his own thoughts. Both his brothers new how important this gift was to Heath.  "Oh, Heath.  The anniversary present."  If anything, hearing his brother put into words what he couldn't, seemed even more demoralizing. And then he felt the lightest of touches on his chest.  He opened his eyes to see his mother cradle the small package as if holding a tiny injured bird in her palm as she peeled back the stained material.

Victoria looked down at the delicate golden hair comb.   She could still make out what had been delicate dangling fushia attracting the attention of two tiny hummingbirds with jeweled eyes.  Heath knew that she tended hanging baskets of her favorite flower just for the pleasure of sitting out on the veranda and watching the tiny birds sip their fill of the sweet nectar.  From the damage, she knew that Heath must have fallen, crushing the intricate filigree, his blood painting the design like unintended enamel work.  As she lifted her eyes, she met devastated blue ones, glassy with unshed tears.  

The room was so still that all heard the words that were barely uttered louder than a whipster.  "Mother, wanted my…my present to be…special.  Show you how much… how much I love you….ruined…'m so sorry."

Victoria grasped the ruined comb to her heart and knelt beside her son's bed, cupping his cheek.  Her own tears slowly coursing down her cheeks.  "Heath, sweetheart.  How could you be so wrong?  The greatest anniversary gift your father or anyone else has could ever give me is to be surrounded by the four children that God saw fit to give me.  Dear one, you here and safely in my arms is the only gift a mother's heart could ever hope to desire."  She bent over and kissed his forehead.  When she looked up, she was rewarded with a smile tugging at her son's lips in one of Heath's lopsided smiles that so reminded her of Tom.  

Dr. Merar cleared his throat to announce his presence and maybe also to relieve the tightening in his throat that he felt upon witnessing the exchange between mother and son.  Pointing to the young man in bed, he remarked, "This package looks like it's been roughly handled as well.  Everybody out - except Victoria.  I have my work set out for me to make sure that your mother's gift stays in one piece.

**TBC…**

****


	9. Chapter 9

_I'm back y'all.  Sorry this took so long and it's short too.  But it's all your fault.  I had to catch up on everyone else's stories.  That's my story and I'm stick'n with it!   Not much action, but more Nick and Jarrod – I love writing dialogue between these brothers!_

Chapter 9 

Chased out of Heath's room, Nick gravitated to the one that he and his brothers spent so much time together. Jarrod traveled silently in his brother's wake, instinctively knowing that Nick was seeking the stillness of the library and probably a drink to steady his nerves. Jarrod was under no illusions. Nick could fool most people and sometimes their mother with bluster, but rarely his two brothers. His younger brother was shaken by what had happened to Heath. Jarrod moved to the whiskey decanter and poured a couple of fingers of whisky, then looking back at Nick, he wordlessly held the glass up.  
Nick answered the wordless question quite simply, "More."  
Jarrod raised one eyebrow at his brother, but said nothing as he poured a double and then a glass for himself.  Walking it over to Nick, he placed it in his hand and simply turned and found himself a seat on one of the leather wingbacks. As a lawyer, he knew that the power of silence could draw out a witness faster than a cleverly worded question. He'd wait Nick out. Jarrod didn't have much time to linger over drink before his brother broke his silence.   
"That bastard left Heath tied and gagged on the side of the road like he was just waiting for me to come along." Jarrod closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the pain of both his brothers. Nick drained the glass and stalked the whiskey decanter, pouring himself another glass and throwing himself once again into the chair. Staring into the fire as if he was addressing it instead of his brother, he continued, "He had us dead in his sights, Jarrod. Could have taken me out at any time as I got Heath on that horse."  
"Who?"  
"Damned if I know," Nick growled with frustration. "I don't think Heath knows either. First he thought that the guy was out to kill him and then this guy leaves him trussed up as if to lure me into a trap. Heath thought so too. He tried to get me to leave him. As if there'd ever come a day **_that_** would ever happen!" Nick punctuated his speech with a slam of the now empty glass on the table.   
Jarrod was now more perplexed than ever. "This isn't making much sense. Mother said that Heath's wounds were at least a day old. Are you telling me that he had Heath that close to the house for more than twenty-four hours."  
"I don't know, but somehow I don't think so. Heath said…" Nick didn't know how to say it. It was as if saying it would somehow make it come true. But Jarrod had to know. He needed his older brother's Swiss watch of a brain to help him set all of these mismatched pieces into place. He was tired from trying all by himself. Standing in his frustration, Nick walked over to the fireplace. He started again.   
"Heath said that the sorry so-'n-so told him that he wanted me to know what it felt like to have Heath die in my arms." The last few words ended in a pained whisper. Anger getting the better of him, Nick threw his empty glass into the fireplace where it shattered. Though temporarily satisfying, the action did little to likewise shatter the cold lump of dread that had been building in his chest ever since he spotted his injured brother lying in the road.  
Jarrod pondered this last bit of information. "It sounds like someone that both you and Heath have tangled with is out for revenge, Nick. But I have to admit, I don't understand why he would let the two of you go when he could have killed you both so easily. "  
"Oh, I think I have at least that figured," Nick gritted through his teeth. "He wants us to twist in the wind, while he takes his own sweet time."  
"Nick, you don't know that for certain, " Jarrod cautioned.  
Bitterly, Nick corrected his brother, "Oh yes I do, pappy. That is the **_one_** thing in this whole mess I do know for certain. He shot off two rounds close enough that I was sure the next one would have my name on it. Then, that low-down snake laughed and hollered out behind us: Eye for an eye, boys. But in my time, not yours."

**_TBC…_**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 

Doctor Merar paused just a moment and took in his patient laying on the bed, his adoptive mother at his side.  Victoria was trying to cool her son's fever by bathing his skin, but she was having a hard time finding areas that weren't scraped, bruised or bleeding.  

This boy is a mess, Doc Merar thought to himself.  Again.  Doc Merar shook his head in mute disbelief.  No matter how many times he was summoned out to that Barkley ranch, it amazed him how often it was to see this patient.  Then again, Nick was just as trauma prone.  These Barkley men seemed to live life on their own terms.  The cost of getting their way in so many things seemed to be taking the required lumps on a alarmingly regular basis.  

Merar took in the new injuries that overlapped scars long healed.  If only Heath Barkley didn't try so hard to make up for lost time since joining this family.  

Pulling the sheet back further, Merar took in the almost circular bruising along Heath's right side.  The shoulder wound had been cleaned and a light bandage reapplied.  He pulled up the bandage gently to reveal the wounds underneath.  Angry red lines coursed from the small entry wound.  A tiny trickle of blood leaked from the wound.  He did not see a tell tale lump where a bullet may have settled just under the surface.  Only one of two options, the doctor thought.  Either the bullet was lodged deeper in the wound and nestled against the bone or…"

"Through and through, Victoria?"

"Yes, the exit wound is far worse, Howard.  We've been afraid to turn him over.  The pain from what we think is a broken rib seems to occur whenever we shift his weight.  More alarmingly, his breathing gets more labored as well."

Heath, though conscious, had been too tired to do more than simply follow the conversation - his eyes simply shifting between the two others in the room.  His mother was speaking so dispassionately that he might have been fooled into believing that she was completely composed if not for the slight tremor in her hand as she passed the cloth over his skin.  

"Let's take a look at those ribs and then I'll know what my options are."  The doctor moved to Heath's right side and gingerly palpitated the bruised area, starting from the outside of the area and slowly working his way toward the area of most severe trauma.  

"How did this injury happen, Heath?"

"Wasn't wild about… getting gagged."

Merar had noticed the raw marks on either side of the blond's mouth that were now explained by this remark.  Still, it did not clarify the semicircular bruise on his chest.  The doctor sighed and pinned his patient back with a sharp look.

"Well you might say… he did some leaning with that knee of his… to kind'a persuade me to unhinge my jaw a bit.  I heard a… snap when he shifted to get back up on his feet."

Just as Heath finished his explanation, the doctor probed an area that should have been rigid beneath his exploring fingers.  Instead, with a little pressure, it gave way like pressing on a soaked sponge.  

Victoria was alarmed when Heath's body went rigid and his eyes glazed over with pain.  But the only sound her son made was a soft groan as the doctor released the pressure on his ribs.

The doctor stood up straight and ran a finger over his chin, deep in thought.  Absently, he remarked,  "That snap was two ribs not one.  I could wrap you ribs, Heath, but you've lost a lot of blood and you're shoulder is badly infected.  The wrap would ease your pain, but I've seen others in a less weakened condition develop pneumonia due to the restrictions on breathing caused by wrapping their ribs."  

Heath nodded agreement.  He'd seen what the doctor described happen to men with similar injuries in the mines.  

"But that leaves us with the problem of treating the wound on your back, Heath.  I'm loath to roll you over, as one of those ribs, under pressure, might do the damage it's been threatening to your lung.  I think we can manage if we temporarily wrap your ribs and sit you up.  Then I can get behind you and cut out the infected areas and clean and dress your wound."

"Sounds like a plan… What's… what's the hold up?"

The doctor's business-like attitude softened as he explained.  "Heath, boy.  There's just no way around it.  You took quite a knock to that noggin of your - you have a concussion.  Though you're alert right now, you're eyes are still not reacting to light as I would ike.  Normally, I'd put you under anesthesia to clean out that shoulder.  But given your head injury, I just can't risk it.  It's gonna hurt pretty bad, boy, but I'll be a fast as possible."

"Rather…rather you be thorough… than… fast."

The doctor chuckled and Victoria shook her head in disbelief at her son's ability mock his own misfortune.  

Marveling at the strength of this young man, the doctor was grateful for it, as he thought the boy would need it before his recovery was complete.  

"There may come a point that you'll be hoping that I'm fast, you young rascal."   Howard turned to Victoria.   "He'll need someone to lean against and I think you're a mite too small for the task.  Could you get Nick up here to help us out?"  Victoria nodded and left the room.  

Heath started to try to sit up on his own.  "I can do this… Doc.  No sense… in bothering my brother."  Heath tried, but the doctor's hand on his shoulder stopped his progress.  

"Heath, I'm the ramrod on this job here and you'll be taking my orders for the foreseeable future." 

Heath favored the doctor with a ghost of a smile.  "Maybe…improvement from taking orders from… Nick."

"What's this I hear?  Lolling in bed and complaining about my orders?"  The decibel level in the room increased as Nick blew in like a cool summer shower.  "I hear this poor broken down cowboy is in need of a strong shoulder to lean on."

Heath directed a long-suffering look at his mother who simply smiled, closed her eyes and shook her head.  Then Victoria turned to Nick.  "You're going to sit down next to your brother and follow Howard's orders, Nick.  You can kindly spare me the lip that you seem so overly fond of giving your brother."

The devilish smile he gave his mother belied his contritely affirmative, "Yes, Mother."

But sitting on the bed and getting a closer look at Heath sobered the darkly handsome cowboy.  Heath was pale as the sheet underneath him.  Upon seeing his bother's smile melt into lines of concern, Heath favored him with a weak smile that Nick returned with a shallow imitation of the grin he was wearing as he entered the room.  The doctor lifted Heath from behind as Nick put his hands under the injured man's arms and hoisted him up until his brother was sitting facing him.  Slowly the doctor tightly secured a wrap around Heath's chest to secure the broken ribs.  

Though Heath's eyes were closed, Nick noted that his breathing had shallowed and a bright sheen of sweat coated his face.  When the doctor finished, Heath opened his eyes.  Pain-glazed blue eyes looked into his big brother's.  

"Best… is yet to come…big brother."  

Nick could barely swallow over the lump that had formed in his throat, much yet respond to Heath's hard-fought bravado.  Instead he reached a hand up to this brother's shoulder and gently rubbed it, wishing like hell he could take on the pain Heath was suffering.  As the doctor took off the soiled bandage, the horrific smell of the necrotic flesh drew Nick's attention down to his brother's wound.  He almost gagged as he saw the discolored strips of flesh and infection leeching from the wound.  His mother gasped, her had flying to her mouth.  

Nick felt his brother's body tense as the doctor said gently, "Steady, Victoria."  

Heath knew she was a strong woman, but he hated to put her though this.

"I'm fine, Howard.  Just tell me which instrument you need and what you want me to do."

"That's just fine, Victoria.  Heath, why don't you lean into your brother?  It'll help."

With a false sense of humor Nick persuaded, "Come on Heath.  I didn't tell anybody about you falling off your horse - twice.  I won't tell anyone that you go around hugging guys."

Sighing as much as his bound ribs would allow, Heath leaned into Nick, who secured an arm around his brother's waist.   Heath's chin came to almost rest just above his slightly taller brother's shoulder.  

"Yeah, Nick…you're _great_ at keep'n secrets.  For the record, doc, I was shot off the first time and passed out the second.  Don't think that qualifies…as fall'n."

The doctor's first strokes with the knife were to the infected areas where the tissue was dead and the cuts caused little pain.  But as the procedure progresses, it was imperative that the doctor cut past the dead tissue to ensure that he removed it all.   As each swipe of the blade drove deeper, Heath jerked into his brother's immoveable wall of a chest.  His right hand that had been lying on the bed, at his side, reached up and grabbed a handful of his brother's shirt, twisting it tighter and tighter with each flash of pain.  But, barely more than the softest groan passed his lips.  

Nick kept murmuring words of encouragement, though even he was not sure what he was saying.  As Nick looked down at the doctor's hands working on Heath's back, he could make out the blood now running freely down his brother's back again.  It wasn't until his mother reached up and gently wiped his face that he realized why he couldn't make our clearly any of the details.  He was crying.

It was like a knife to her mother's heart to see both of her sons suffering so.  Victoria knew that for all his bluster, Nick could be such a gentle soul.  Heath had fought hard to find a place in his brother's heart and the bond now seemed almost symbiotic in nature.  Nick's next words interrupted her thoughts."

Whispering into his brother's ear, Nick pleaded, "Please Heath, let go.  We don't need a good, tough soldier here.  The fight's over, boy.  Let go.  Heath.  It's, OK.  Just let go."

His throat and voice raw with unshed tears and pain, Nick looked at his mother.  "Why can't he just pass out, mother?"  Looking up, Nick pleaded, "God, please."

As if in answer, Heath's hand relinquished it's grip on Nick's shirt and fell to his side.  His whole body melted into his brother's support and his head rested into the curve of Nick's neck.  Reaching up, Nick cupped his brother's head and turning his own he placed the gentlest of kisses on the golden head.  The doctor finished excising the debris and infection from the wound.  Staunching the bleeding yet again, he bandaged the wound and then gently unwrapped Heath's ribs and helped Nick carefully lay the unconscious man back into the bed.

Heath lay now pale but beyond pain as the doctor did yet another check of this vitals.  Victoria was amazed at how the boy lying before them resembled a golden angel - blessed enough to inspire the love of the strong man that stood before her.

Finally tearing his eyes away from his brother, Nick graced his mother with a watery smile.  "You'll be happy to hear that I won't be skipping church on Sundays any time soon.  And for good measure, I promised to leave the singing to the other members of the family that _some_ think are better suited to it.  That seemed to be agreeable to Him."

Victoria opened her arms and Nick walked into them - as he had as a boy of so many years ago - to get his tears kissed away, once again.  

TBC… 

_As a reward for all the good work that Doc Merar does for the Barkley family, I thought that I would give him some insight into 21st century medicine as doctor's rarely wrap broken ribs to prevent the very complications (except in the movies – cause it looks so good on the heroes) that Dr. Merar remarked on earlier in the story.  _


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Doc Merar started cleaning up after they had settled Heath for the night.  Audra – what a sweet girl - had cleaned and boiled all his instruments and returned them before Howard even knew they were missing.  Victoria had gone to check on the hands that were guarding the house and to bring them sandwiches and coffee.  He doubted that she would sleep at all tonight.

Now with some spare time, Howard carefully went over the rest of the cowboy's injuries – there had been plenty of bruising from the falls – but no other broken bones.  He was relieved as much for his family as he was for Heat.  Howard gained a new respect for the middle brother of the Barkley clan.  He never doubted that Nick was, through and through, a man's man.  He'd seen Nick take on every challenge, including his father's death, with his chin out, daring fate to take another swing.   Rarely allowed to see the private pain and genuine devotion that boy had for his family, the doctor felt that he had been witness to a rare moment indeed.  

Heath Barkley was another story all together.  Certainly he had no prejudice against the young man's origins, however, upon the boys arrival, Howard had been concerned for Victoria.  Not only had he originally been suspicious of Heath's motives, but also he hated when he saw the bittersweet pain in Victoria's eyes when they'd alight on the boy.  Howard was one of the old-timers in Stockton that could remember a youthful Tom Barkley.  Oh maybe it wasn't a perfect resemblance.  Heath had gentler features, probably inherited from his mother.  But some of his mannerisms, Howard thought to himself as he put his instruments into his well-kept black leather bag.  Those mannerisms gave him a start the first time he caught sight of the cowboy, holding his seat on the horse like his father.  Not to mention that quiet, steady gaze.  Hard to tell what was going on in their head until one took a stand – father or son.   Then wild horses couldn't swerve either from the chosen path.  Also, Howard was certain that some of the pain was due to Victoria's doubt and reevaluation of her marriage.  Yet, he'd seen her at Sunday scriptures a week after the doctor heard she'd visited Strawberry and marveled at the new glow of inner piece she had acquired.   He was sure that she had found some if not all of the answers that she had needed to put both Tom and her doubts to rest.  

As if conjured, Victoria stood in the doorway.  Nick had reluctantly left to also check on the watch posted outside and consult with Jarrod and the sheriff.  He'd quietly reassured his sleeping brother that he would be back shortly, which Howard didn't doubt.   He was glad for a moment with Victoria alone to explain the realities of the situation.  The doc smiled to himself.  Never could tell how Nick Barkley would react to news contrary to his wishes.  He needed to tell someone levelheaded about the boy's prognosis so that they could get on with dealing with the situation.  

Victoria sensed that Howard needed to speak to her and took a seat near Heath's bed where she could keep an eye on her son and converse with her doctor.  

"Alright, Howard.  You've got something to say so let's not put it off."

"He's a strong man, Victoria. God know that a lesser man would not have made it this far.  His lungs are clear, for now.  Not a small blessing considering that you said that he was soaked.  I think we got all the infection in that shoulder and though I'm concerned about his head wound, he's been alert and coherent, which is a good sign."

"Alright Howard, I'm an old hand at recognizing the 'good news first.'  What haven't you told me yet?"  Howard was amazed at the Victoria's composure, though he was certain that she would need to replace the handkerchief in her lap that she was unconsciously wringing within an inch of its life.  

"Heath's lost quite a bit of blood, Victoria.  Though the fever should abate now that the cause of the infection is hopefully neutralized, it is sapping his body of the energy it needs to deal with the blood loss.  He'll need fluids and broth, but even with that, the fever may leech the liquid and nutrients that he'll need to build back that blood volume.  Without it, his organs may start to shut down.  Already, his heartbeat is too fast – overcompensating for the lack of blood in his body."

"Are you talking transfusion?   Nick has successfully done this be…"

"Even with a positive result before, Victoria, there are still risks.  If Nick has been exposed to something, even if he isn't sick, he could pass along an illness to Heath that his body could not defend against in his weekend condition."  If someone could stay up with Heath, give him fluid's and keep his temperature down, we could assess the results in the morning and make our decision then."

"Is there any risk in waiting?"

"As there is risk with either choice, Victoria.  But I have to think that giving Heath some respite after such a difficult procedure on his shoulder will be to our advantage either way.  Later today, we'll be able to give him some pain medicine, but until then, someone will need to be here with you to make sure that Heath doesn't move around to much and open up his shoulder or do damage to those broken ribs.  Can one of your sons help you care for Heath tonight?"

Victoria chuckled for the first time during the tension-filled night. "You should be asking me if I will need help to keep my sons, daughter and Silas from trying to 'help.'   If you could stay with Heath for a little bit, I'll go down and tell the family what our marching orders are.  Then you can head home, Howard.  Are you sure you would rather not stay the night?  I can have the spare room made up in just a few minutes…"

"You're too kind, Victoria, but I'd rather be at home and easy to find if any of my other patients has an emergency."

Victoria stood up, diminutive yet resolute; she glided to the doctor and took his hand in both of hers.  "Yet again, Howard, my family is in your debt.  I'll be back shortly - as soon as I review with them what you've just explained to me."  With that she swept gracefully out of the room.  

BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVB 

Victoria took in the scene as she walked into the library and thought to herself that the view looked much like the aftermath of a day of pitched battle - bodies lay all over the library landscape.  Jarrod was sitting side-by side with Audra and had his sister's head tucked onto his shoulder.  Nick, as usual was draped, legs and arms sticking out at odd angles over one of the wingbacks.  Silas was seeing to the wounded, hovering over each like a medic, trying to get them to drink or eat something that no one really desired.  Obviously these troops needed organization and orders and she was just the general to do it.

Breezing in as she spoke, Victoria remarked.  "I see that everyone is a bit too wound up to sleep."

Never one to mince words, Nick was the first to question her.  "What does Dr. Merar think of Heath's condition?"

"That he wouldn't have made it this far if he didn't have a stubborn streak a mile wide and a family that loves him.  Howard is pleased with the work on Heath's shoulder and his alertness, however the fever hasn't broken yet and the greatest danger is the blood loss he experienced.  We need to be prepared in case Heath requires a blood transfusion."

"What's the holdup mother.  I've done this before for Heath."

"Yes, dear.  That is our backup plan.  But Heath is so weak that if you have been exposed to anything, cold, influenza, whatever, he would not be strong enough to fight off a new infection.  Howard thinks that we should give it a few hours and see how he responds to fluids and if we can get his fever down."

"Balderdash!  I'm as healthy as a hors…"

"That's not mother's point, brother Nick."

Jarrod sat in his favorite chair his hands steepled in front of him in thought.  Nick looked primed for an argument but as always, Victoria was thankful for how perceptive her eldest could be.  Before she could put her plan into place, Jarrod, her faithful lieutenant, was already mustering them out.  

"You've already had quite a day and night, nick and that means that our best donor for a blood transfusion should rest and that goes for you too, little sister."  Both Nick and Audra looked like they wanted to argue his highhandedness.  Instead, Jarrod held up one hand and added.

"If you two don't go and get some shuteye, who is going to spell mother and I in the morning?"

Nick grumbled something that suggested where he thought all nimble-tongued lawyers should go.  But he conceded the point without actually verbally agreeing and kissing his mother goodnight.  His one shot a weakly defiant comment over his shoulder.  "Alright counselor, but the condemned man is going to say goodnight to his brother before following your sentencing demands."

Audra, ever more graceful in defeat, came by Jarrod and planted a kiss on her brother's cheek and whispered,   "You handled us just like father would have."  With a swish of expensive material, Audra headed to bed as well.

Victoria smiled to her eldest in absolute agreement

The greatest secret was that Silas was the toughest nut to crack in the house.  Never would he allow himself to rest if a single family member was up.  In many ways he was as devoted to them as their own mother and there was no doubt in Jarrod's mind that Heath held a special place in the old butlers heart.  

"Mister Jarrod.   I hears that you need fluids for dat boy and I have me some soup bones already simmer'in.  I'll have some broth up there for Mr. Heath in no time.  No time a'tall."

"Thank you Silas and then I'll need you to go to bed too."  When Silas looked like he was going to object, Victoria laid a hand on his arm and said, "When I'm not with them, they'll need you Silas.  Please rest, so that I can rest easier knowing you're there with them."

Silas stood just a little taller as he turned to the kitchens and replied, "No matter, Mizzus Barkley.  Ol' Silas is a light sleeper.  You or Mister Heath need me and I'll come a runnin!  Don't you worry none.  With us on the job, 'dat boy is gonna be fine, just fine."

Victoria followed his receding back, "Thank you, Silas," followed by a softer "And God bless you."

Jarrod took her arm and led her to the stairs and added his own heartfelt thanks for their devoted friend,  "Amen, lovely lady.  Amen."

**_TBC…_**


	12. Chapter 12

I hope the length of the post makes up for the delay. Thanks for your patience and as always your wonderful reviews: ace, lynne, Puppersx2, Rosie, western fan, Anne, Wolfsgangsq9, squints, Sue, Shanilka & Crazy.  You're welcome to hang out at my bunkhouse anytime.

_Chianna_

Chapter 12  
  
Victoria went into Heath's room as Jarrod took some last minute instructions in the hall before the doctor departed to return tomorrow. Jarrod, recognizing his error, amended mentally - today. Doc Merar would be back today. It was such a trivial bit of knowledge, but it was firm, real and reliable. A lawyer's world was about grasping, arranging and communicating facts and Jarrod drew comfort from even the most simple when the fact of his brother's survival was, as yet, not as certain. Bidding the doctor a brisk farewell, Jarrod entered the room with a firm conviction that he would do everything in his power to insure that Heath's membership in his beloved family remained in good standing.   
  
When Jarrod entered the room, he noted that his mother had already taken up a cloth and was gently drawing its cool moistness across his brother's chest. Heath lay very still in the bed, the large white bandage covering the bullet wound anchored by a white swath of cotton strips across his chest. Silas bustled into the room, a small tray with a bowl whose aroma announced beef broth, cradled in his arms. Placing the tray on the bedside table, Silas looked at Victoria, the question uppermost in all their minds, very clear in his eyes.   
  
Victoria's perception was not impaired by lack of sleep. "He's doing as well as can be expected, Silas. I almost hate to wake him, to give him the broth…"  
  
To their surprise, Heath responded, though his eyes never quite opened. "Jus' resting my eyes… bit mother."  
  
Jarrod smiled, "Sounds more like you're playing possum, brother Heath. Time to have some broth."  
  
"Feels like time to go to sleep."  
  
Victoria's voice was firm as she interrupted. "You've been running a fever for, God only knows how long, Heath. The doctor said that you need fluids, so fluids you are going to have young man."   
  
Bowing to the inevitable, the blond tried to sit up, using his good arm as leverage, before Jarrod could stop him. The folly of his actions were immediately telegraphed to his brain by the bolts of pain originating from parts of his body too numerous to catalog. The one that ultimately stopped Heath in his tracks was the band of hurt which tightened around his chest and cut off his next breath.  
  
Jarrod lurched to his feet, frustrated yet again, by his brother's stubborn streak that he feared originated from twenty-four years of not having someone to lean on like the family that now surrounded him. After two years, Jarrod thought with some frustration, the boy should know by now. But instead of scolding, Jarrod set his jaw and reached under his brother's arms and pulled him to a sitting position, while Victoria propped pillows behind him.   
  
Instead Victoria did the scolding as she watched her youngest son deal with the pain and get his breathing under control.   
  
"Heath Barkley, I swear if you pull a stunt like that again…"  
  
"Won't…learn't my lesson." Beads of sweat covered his face and torso, though from exertion or fever, Jarrod was not quite sure. Now in position, Jarrod sat on the bed next to Heath and dipped a spoon into the bowl and held it up for his brother to sip. The lawyer could tell from the way Heath closed his eyes as he swallowed that the food didn't set well with a stomach that had gone for two days without nourishment.  
  
Victoria, also noticed Heath's unease and entreated, "Breath slowly, Heath. You're stomach needs time to adjust to having food in it again." Heath barely nodded. He paled as he fought his belly's urge to expel what now seemed unfamiliar. Like this, Heath was able to take only three more tablespoons before his eyelids started to droop. Jarrod could tell that his mother was not satisfied but Heath was too exhausted to continue for now. The injured man fell into a fitful sleep.   
  
Twice more they woke the sick man up to give him broth. But instead of strengthening, Heath seemed to be slipping further away from them. At 5 am when they woke him for the last time, there was no recognition in Heath's eyes. They did not need to touch Heath's forehead to know that his temperature had risen in the wee hours of the morning. Victoria and Jarrod could feel the heat radiate from their loved one on the bed. Heath seemed to now be unable to follow the simple instruction to swallow, so Jarrod massaged his brother's throat to generate the reflex. But it was all for naught. Within fifteen minutes, Heath had started to choke and gag. Moments later, the paltry contents of his stomach were emptied into a basin that Victoria held and Jarrod laid the exhausted Heath back down onto the pillows.   
  
Jarrod paced the room in frustration as his mother's feelings of helplessness turned to silent tears that coursed down Victoria's face without her notice.   
  
Victoria heard a soft moan and noticed that Heath had begun shivering in earnest. He opened his eyes and turned to her.  
  
"S…sso cold, m..mmo…ther."  
  
Jarrod turned urgently to the armoire and took out two blankets. Spreading them over Heath, Jarrod brought them up to his brother's chin.   
  
Nick chose this moment to poke his head into the room. Obviously hastily dressed, Nick was still barefoot and his hair stuck out in half-hazard spikes, showing that it had yet to be tamed by a comb.   
  
"How's he doing, Mother?"  
  
"Not well, Nick, not well at all."   
  
Jarrod's red-rimmed eyes looked up to his brother. "Looks like I'm going to make a trip into town and get the doctor."  
  
"I can go Jarrod."  
  
"No you don't, Nick. You are the honored guest at the party we're throwing when the doctor arrives. I'll not risk one hair on your head your head as I might loose two brothers and not just one. How can you forget that there is someone out there that wants revenge on you?"  
  
"Fine. Then what's keeping you?"  
  
"Only the questions of one of my brothers, Nick, old boy." Turning to his mother, Jarrod assured, "I'll be back here before you know it, Mother. Once we get enough of Nick's blood into Heath, he'll be too stubborn to be sick."  
  
"Hurry Jarrod, and take care. Nick and Heath may not have been the only Barkley's that have inspired that man's revenge."  
  
Jarrod flashed an over-bright smile and quipped, "Never you worry lovely lady. Nick, you take care of our little brother and make sure that Mother gets some rest."  
  
BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV  
  
Nick managed to practically manhandle his mother out of Heath's room but he knew that the real cinch to getting his mother to rest was that he promised that he would wake her up the moment that Dr. Merar arrived. Before settling in to sit in one of the chairs next to his brother, Nick had thought with relief that Heath seemed better. He was still and the pain that they could not yet medicate did not seem to disturb his sleep anymore. Instead, as he looked closer, Nick realized that Heath looked as pale as a winter snowfall and his breathing had become very shallow.  
  
Nick took Heath's hand in his. It was cool and dry. Either the fever had broken or Heath's body did not have the energy to even put up the fight to burn out the infection that, until last night, had taken such a hold on him. Audra sat on a chair by the window. Nick was certain that she was keeping a watchful eye for their older brother, the sampler that she was working on, barely touched on her lap.   
  
There was so much that he wanted to say to Heath, but the dark cowboy was worried that his little sister might get more worried or think that Nick was giving up on saving Heath if he spoke hi thoughts out loud. So he simply held Heath's hand and occasionally gave it a gentle squeeze – each one having a very subtle meaning that only the heart can translate – "I'm glad you brawled your way into my life, " "I can't imagine my world and this family without you," "I need you, Heath Barkley"  
  
BVBVBVVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV  
  
Audra jumped up and held her hand over her eyes to shield them from the early morning sun. "Nick! It's Jarrod and he has the doctor with him. Thank God."  
  
"Go wake up Mother, I promised we would."  
  
Audra nodded and as she passed Heath's bed, she said softly, "Hang on Heath. I know that you're going to get better soon, big brother."  
  
From your lips to God's ears, Nick thought. Soon he heard the murmurings of the ladies of the family talking and the front door opening and Jarrod calling for Silas. Within moments, the doctor was walking into the room with his older brother and Silas with a bowl of hot water and soap. Nick mentally cringed as he saw the grimness of the doctor's features harden on his face as he checked Heath's pulse, heartbeat and respiration.   
  
Victoria entered the room and it was obvious that she too could also see the doctor's concern.  
  
"You were right to get me, Jarrod. Heath needs the transfusion immediately." Concisely the doctor communicated his needs to the others. A chair and ottoman for Nick to put his feet up on since the room did not have a second bed, boil his instruments and the length of rubber tubing, wash Heath's arm in the area where he would be transfused.  
  
Everyone bustled around Nick, seeing to the needs of the procedure that was about to occur. Nick simply stayed at his brother's side, and everyone, by simultaneous unspoken communication, seemed to agree.   
  
Finally the room was prepared and Nick took a seat, his left arm rested on the chair where the doctor swabbed it down with alcohol and inserted the needle and then affixed a similar one to Heath. Attached to the tubing was a small metal tube and plunger. As the doctor manipulated the plunger, the life-giving blood passed from one brother and into the next.   
  
"Jarrod, I need you to keep count of the plunger stokes out loud so that I can monitor Heath's respiration and heartbeat."   
  
The room was silent except for the Jarrod's voice as he droned out the numbers. After the third time the doctor listened to Heath's heart through his stethoscope, he straightened up with a smile. Nick, sensing a change in the room, glanced over at his brother. Heath's complexion had warmed from the frighteningly waxy white it was all morning.   
  
"Heath's heart beat is slowing back down to a normal rhythm. The fever may come back, but I am going to leave you with some willow bark tea that tastes like hell, but should keep a fever down if it comes back." Doctor Merar turned so that his instructions would encompass everyone in the room.   
  
"Nick, you are heading to your room to have breakfast in bed."  
  
Nick's head snapped up and his mouth opened to voice the complaint that was already obvious in his stormy hazel eyes.   
  
"Did I mention that these instructions are non-negotiable?"  
  
Nick's mouth shut with a snap, but he still looked sulky. Jarrod was sure that they would be hearing about the fact that 'this is a working ranch any second,' but obviously the doctor knew his brother better than Jarrod originally thought. His appeal was the one thing that would ensure that nick would follow orders.  
  
"Nick, though I think that we've taken care of all your brothers bleeding, if he does have internal injuries that we have not yet identified, Heath might need a second transfusion, if I have to do surgery."  
  
Victoria made a soft involuntary gasp.   
  
"Now this is just insurance Victoria. I truly believe that what the boy needs now is to stay still, rest and get plenty of fluids. But I want Nick to eat well and rest up. Keeping my options open –that's all I want. Not to mention that I'd rather not come out to your ranch again later on to sew up Nick's stubborn head, because he passed out.  
  
"I feel just fine, Doc." And to prove it Nick lurched up to his feel. Luckily, Jarrod was well experienced with his brother's sheer contrariness. When Nick's hand went to his head and his knees started to buckle, his older brother was already strategically positioned to lower him safely back into the chair.  
  
The doctor chuckled and remarked, "How would you put it, Jarrod? Ah, yes! I rest my case."  
  
Nick's jaw set in stubborn lines, but looking over at his mother's determined face, it was obvious he'd lost this battle before it had even started.   
  
"Victoria, I'm leaving you with a bottle of laudanum. Without wrapping his ribs, he'll need something for the pain and also something that will keep him still to give them time to mend. I don't foresee him needing it regularly for more than a few days. After that he can take it as needed for the pain. You can give him his first dose after he awakens – I expect sometime this afternoon. Make sure he gets something into his stomach first – and often."  
  
Victoria replied, "Never fear, Doctor. You have just enlisted four of most dedicated nursing assistants you could find in the valley."   
  
Nick stood a bit more slowly and Jarrod walked him to his room. Silas went down to the kitchen to make breakfast. There would likely be more than one tray going upstairs. Audra and Victoria stayed with Heath.   
  
BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV  
  
After lunch, the ladies retired for a nap and Nick and Jarrod took over. Jarrod brought some briefs to read and had them spread near the foot of the bed. Nick sat in the bedside chair, or rather napped, which was fine with Jarrod. Engrossed in a particularly intricate property dispute case in San Francisco, Jarrod was not immediately aware of Heath's return to consciousness until he heard him say, "Must've been laying still…for too long to get mistaken for… lawyer's desk."  
  
Jarrod's head snapped up and met bleary blue eyes trying to focus on the lawyer sitting hunched over the foot of the bed.   
  
With the barest nod of his head, Heath motioned toward Nick.   
  
Understanding the implicit question, Jarrod explained, "You were doing rather poorly this morning Heath so the doctor decided that you needed a transfusion. We knew that Nick seems to have the right vintage, so to speak, for your needs. So of course he volunteered. He's just a bit tired but the doctor said he'd be fit for ranch duty by tomorrow."   
  
"I'm fit now, dammit. If someone would just…listen." Nick smiled sheepishly as the effect of his complaint was ruined the untimely interruption of a jaw-popping yawn.   
  
Heath smiled, but the yawn was catching and he followed suit soon after and started to let his heavy eyelids droop once again into sleep.   
  
Tired of being bossed around, Nick did what came naturally. "Oh, no you don't boy! You're having some soup if I have to sit on your chest and ladle it into you. Then, doctor's orders, you are gonna take a little laudanum and have yourself a nice long healing-like sleep."  
  
Heath's eyes fluttered open, "I'm not…hungry and don't need …none of your laudanum. Just need 'ta sleep."  
  
"Heath Barkley, you will have the soup and laudanum." Victoria said definitively as she entered the room. Nick looked smug for a moment until she added. "We can't have Nick's stubborn blood in you overrule you're innate commonsense, son."   
  
"Bring on the soup… Mother. I'll need 'ta be strong to resist all that…pigheadedness."  
  
Jarrod couldn't hold back at that and let loose a bark of laughter. Nick grumbled good-naturedly and said something about telling Silas that Heath was awake. Soon Nick appeared with Silas who had a tray fixed up with soup and tea and a couple slices of buttered toast.   
  
Jarrod and Nick worked together to help Heath sit up. Even as careful as they were, the shoulder and rib injuries made themselves known with a vengeance, almost robbing him of any appetite. With a few slow breaths, Heath tried to master the pain with limited success. The soup and tea went down better this time, but Heath's stomach rebelled at more than a bite of the toast. Nick prodded and harassed the blond to finish his tea and then pulled out the bottle of laudanum. Heath could not get comfortable and almost welcomed the medicine with only a token complaint. Settling him as comfortably as possible, Heath couldn't help a groan of pain as his abused shoulder rested on the bed again. Jarrod and Nick looked at each other from opposite sides of their brother's bed in concern.   
  
"Oh for cryin' out loud." Heath said weakly. "Lookin' at your two long faces is gonna give me nightmares. I'm feeling better already. Maybe you better have a steak ready for me when I wake up." Heath's voice was getting more remote as his body started to surrender once again to the medication and sheer exhaustion.  
  
"Sure, Mr. I-can't-eat-that-toast. You'll be lucky if mother lets you have poached eggs, " remarked a mock annoyed big brother Nick.  
  
"Poached eggs?" Heath murmured. "Hope mother doesn't let Audra make them. Now that's a nightmare…"   
  
Jarrod and Nick looked once again over their sleeping brother's bed to share an amused smile.   
  
"I think I finally believe Silas, brother Nick. He's gonna be fine, just fine!"  
  
BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV  
  
  
The family took shifts, feeding their brother and keeping him comfortable through the night. Everyone got more rest as the cares of the previous 24 hours started to melt away as Heath seemed to be recovering to everyone's satisfaction.  
  
In the morning, Nick felt confident enough to check in and have breakfast with his brother. Heath felt well enough to razz his brother about lollygagging with a broke-down cowboy while this here workin' ranch was waiting for his attention. Nick couldn't wipe the smile off his face as he headed to the corral. No one had seen or heard anything suspicious in the last couple of days. Maybe the guy that attacked Heath was just some random nutcase. The boy had as much a talent for attracting these types as he had for being a magnet for trouble.   
  
As he approached the corral, he noticed that some of the hands were laughing with a stranger. Nick nodded to McCall, who quickly made introductions, explaining that they had met the man in town playing poker. From the general air of congeniality with the bunch, Nick assumed that the stranger had not cleaned out all of his hands.   
  
"So how can I help you here, mister?" Nick added, "We've fallen behind and are going to have to put in a couple of hard days to catch up."  
  
"That's what I heard from your men here, Mr. Barkley. Hear, too, that you have a top hand that is stove up and I thought I'd come to see if there is an opening for a wrangler until he gets back on his feet."  
  
Nicks' head tilted in thought as he contemplated the man before him. "That hand is my brother Heath, and he pulls a lot of weight around here. We have a bunch of green horses that need breaking being delivered from Fresno today. If you think you're up to it - you have a job."  
  
"Why Mr. Barkley, breakin' horses is right up my alley. If'n that's a job you're offerin', than I'll be accepting."  
  
"McCall, take him to the bunkhouse, sign him on and get him settled." Turning back to the new wrangler, Nick asked, "What did you say your name was again?"  
  
"Rawlston, Mr. Barkley. Lance Rawlston."  
  
_TBC…_


	13. Chapter 13

_Ace you are amazing.  Thank you for the review for each chapter! And to all the rest of you repeat readers, this is a shorty, but I have some action planned and two days off to write it!!  Woo hoo!  - Chianna_ Chapter 13 

Rawlston was sitting on the porch of the bunkhouse, braiding a lariat, when he first spied the blond cowboy.  The hawkish gaze that missed nothing was camouflaged by his affable demeanor and the Stetson pulled down over his eyes.    Must be that they're airing the boy out after dinner.  Here I am to witness the boy's remarkable recovery.  Lucky me, Rawlston thought cynically.****

The youngest Barkley brother was led gingerly to a wicker chair on the porch and gently assisted to his seat by his doting eldest brother.  Jarrod Barkley brought out glasses of amber liquid and a cigar that he lit and passed to his one-armed brother.  Soon the women and missing brother, Nick Barkley wandered out onto the porch.  What a peaceful and charming little scene, Rawlston mused.  He was bound and determined to make sure that this was one of the last peaceful moments this family, that had robbed him of his own, would ever know. 

The boy didn't look too bad, really.  Sure, Barkley was hunched over a tad, which tipped Rawlston off that he was nursing broken ribs.  Not to mention, he was sporting a chambray blue sling that matched the shirt he was wearing.  Probably that flaxen-haired sister of Barkley's fixed up a different bit of fancy cloth to match each of the boy's outfits.  She looked to be that type.  Throwing good money after bad, he thought smugly to himself.  No sense wasting good money on a dead man.  All he'll need is his Sunday best for the casket viewing.  That is, if he decided that the body would be in any condition for polite company to view.  But there's plenty of time to have some fun.  The false cowhand wove his devilish plans just as deftly as he wove the strands of hemp into a formidable rope.  If he had his way, at least one of the Barkley's will get to test just how strong a rope he could make.  With that thought, he snapped the rope to test it - with grim satisfaction.

But before he would have a chance to use the rope, he needed to draw the youngest Barkley boy into the barn.  He had a surprise he'd found sunning itself on a rock while he was checking the fence line this morning.  Too good not to share, for sure.  Boys love interesting critters.  Now, how to get Heath Barkley alone and away from his overly protective family?  Rawlston smile slyly.  Maybe starting on another length of rope would help get his creative juices flowing.  Tomorrow morning was time enough to put his plan into action.

TBC… 


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14 

It really wasn't sneaking downstairs.  Not really.  You could call it enjoying emancipation from undue supervision.  Heath smiled to himself at the thought.  With his good right arm firmly grasping the banister, Heath crept down the back stairs as stealthily as a banged up cowboy could.  It was 5 am, his normal waking up time.  He had sort of enjoyed his first non-drug induced sleep last night in five days.  He had to put his foot down with his mother who was more intent on following the letter of the doctor's orders in regard to anything involving one of her children's health.   Heath had to admit to himself that the aches and pains woke him up during the night.  But it was so good to wake up without the cotton wool-wrapped brain as he had for the last few mornings.  

The only member of the family that he couldn't fool was standing at the bottom of the back stairs in the kitchen with a cup of coffee already poured and waiting.  

"Mr. Heath, yor mama find out that you up and about this early and I'll not be hang'n around to protect you."  Silas handed Heath the coffee cup, served up black as a witch's heart, and the settled into a companionable silence as Silas readied breakfast for the rest of the sleeping Barkleys and Heath eased himself into a chair.  Another note of mild revolt was the fact that he was not wearing a sling this morning.  Silas gave a pointed look at the blonde's shoulder and then looked the boy in the eyes with a note of censure that even Victoria would approve.  Heath favored him with a lopsided grin and produced a perfectly hemmed scrap of material that seemed to have been cut from the same maroon cloth as his shirt.  He waved it half-heartedly like a flag of surrender.

"Don't remember dat doctor say'n you could go without that, Mr. Heath."

"Not you too, Silas?  I need to move it around some or it'll shrivel up like a twig and then there goes my career as a concert pianist."

Heath heard Silas harrumph in annoyance and grumble something about how Tom Barkley bred himself some cheeky young'uns.  Soon the conversation turned to what had been going on at the ranch while you cowboy had been in bed.  Silas was a font of information as usual.  His abiding ways coupled with his keen observation often helped Heath gain perceptions on trouble brewing with one of the hands.  Though Heath had breakfast with his family on occasion, he enjoyed his time with Silas.  The butler had an innate sense for when the newest Barkley needed some space or a friendly ear.  Nick had never quite mastered the gentle art of companionable silence.  He seemed to think that quiet was a vacuum and like nature, he abhorred it and used his own voice to fill it.  Jarrod could sit quietly for hours but Heath sometimes thought that he could actually hear his thoughts grind on like well-oiled gears.  There is nothing comforting about a lawyer's silence, Heath thought with a gentle smile.  He wondered if  his father would have been so intimidating in his silence.  Tom Barkley had the penetrating look of someone who knew how to make an errant boy squirm.

Then, too, Silas would not bug him for more details of the shooting that he didn't have.  The time out on the porch last night had been followed by a family powwow in the parlor.  Heath had filled the family on all of the details of what had happened to him on his way back from Sonora.  He lost count of how many times Jarrod made him recount the details.  He was sympathetic to their frustration, but was beginning to think they didn't realize that he was just as perplexed – and he had been thinking about it for a lot longer then they had.

After Nick had asked for the hundredth time, "Are you sure you didn't get a look at his face? Recognize his voice, " Victoria saw her youngest son's remarkable patience start to give way.

"No and No.  But if you ask me that one more time, Nick, I swear there won't be any problem identifying the guy who shoots you."

Nick grinned broadly with a smile that said "Moi?"  

Always the peacemaker, Victoria soothed, "Nick, I don't think there is anyone in this room that would like more to identify the man that shot him than Heath."

"I know mother, I just thought that with that bump on the noggin, this poor boy could use some help shaking those memories loose."  Heath's eyes rolled first to his mother and then to his oldest brother.  No immediate assistance was forthcoming to deal with his annoying brother and, in fact, Jarrod seemed to be trying, unsuccessfully, to suppress his own grin.  Instead, Heath got up stiffly and pleading exhaustion, said that he was heading for bed.  

Immediately, Heath could see that Nick thought he'd said something to truly annoy him, since the doubt and regret was etched clearly on his big brother's face.  

Heath was truly tired and sore since he had stopped taking the pain medication that same day.  He looked up at the stairs and they looked as hard to scale as a sheer cliff wall.

Standing in the doorway, he though back over his shoulder, "That's power lot of stairs for this _poor boy_ to climb.  What are ya' waiting for Nick?  You may not be as good a ranch hand as me, but your one bang up nursemaid."

Nick affectionately grumbled as they made their way up the stairs.  However, when Heath faltered halfway up the stairs, a brotherly arm snaked out swiftly around the younger brothers waist and steadied him as they continued their climb.  The gesture was not lost on Victoria, Jarrod or Audra as they exited the parlor, as well. 

Now, Heath contemplated the plate of eggs, ham and biscuits that Silas put in front of him.  And he realized he wasn't the only one breaking the rules.  The doc had said 'light' foods and lots of liquids through the weekend – and he knew that Silas heard it as well.  Heath arched an eyebrow at his friend.  

"Well that's what you came down here for – b'sides keep'n ol' Silas company.  Eat up boy or are you fix'n to get us both in trouble with yor mother?"

Heath closed his eyes as he forked a piece of ham and eggs into his mouth.  After almost a week of soup and porridge, the ham tasted like ambrosia.  "No sirree, Silas.  We're in this together.   MmmmMmm.  Jus' keep it comin."

As Heath buttered his last biscuit, the back door banged open and Nate Bailey, one of the stable hands, came running into the kitchen.  Well, Heath amended, at elven years old, Nate was more of a stable boy, but no one would ever hear that from Heath.  Nate's dad had been a ranch hand on a neighboring ranch, when he was killed protecting the herd from rustlers last winter.  Heath had run into the boy at the livery, practically begging for odd job.  Heath found out that he and hi mother were left almost penniless and the small bit of money the rancher had settled on them had long since run out.  The boy had elected himself the breadwinner to replace his father and his mother was trying to find a job as a cook in town, but neither had much luck.  It didn't take much fancy talking to convince Jarrod that they could use Rachel Bailey to cook and look after the bunkhouse.  After some grumbling about 'running a working ranch and not a boarding house," Heath's appeal to Nick's soft heart on behalf of the Bailey's was successful.  For six months, the boys in the bunkhouse had been spoiled rotten with great home cooking.  They even helped the young widow out by paying her to do their wash.  Nate went to school every day on his owe pony, but took his responsibilities as 'breadwinner' quite seriously.  Every morning before classes and when he returned, Nate helped out in the barn caring for the horses.  

"Mr. Barkley, Charger's putting up a bit of a ruckus and I cain't calm him down to get in the stall and see what's worry'n him.  Da ya' think you could take a look?"

Heath had barely opened his mouth when Silas replied instead, "Now look her Nate.  Mr. Barkley's been feeling poorly.  Go find you one of the hands."

"They're all eating Mr. Silas and I wouldn't be here if'n one of them would come with me."

"Now, Silas.  Moseying over to the barn won't hurt me a bit.  I could use a stretch of the legs."

"All right, Mr. Heath.  But you wear that sling right now and take care.  If yor not back in fifteen minutes…"

"Sure, Silas. Send out the cavalry."  

Silas fussed a bit and helped Heath settle the sling around his neck.  Heath was actually a little relieved to have it on, since his shoulder was throbbing again from .

Nate's eyes glowed as he looked back at his employer.  Everything good that happened to him in the last six months was associated with the blonde cowboy.  He had a fair share of hero worship for Heath, who treated him just like one of the other hands.  Nate loved to watch Heath work with Charger and badgered him for tips so that he could be a top wrangler too.  

"Come on Mr. Barkley."

"It's Heath, Nate, for the last time or I'll not be following you anywhere, pardner."

"All right… Heath," Nate tried it out and smiled like he'd just been given his first beer. "But you're gonna half to tell my mom it's OK or she'll think I'm getting familiar."

Heath laughed and ruffled the boy's hair.  "Why after six months, you'd better be familiar by now."

When they reached the barn, Heath immediately could tell that something was wrong with Charger.  Concerned about Charger's restlessness, Heath told Nate to stay outside the stall.  The boy scrambled up the side of the stall wall so that he could get a look at what Heath was doing.

Heath could tell that Charger's nicker of greeting had an edge.  The way that Charger was holding his left hoof gingerly and running it along the ground made him think that something was wrong with that leg.  Settling down awkwardly on one knee, Heath ran his right hand up and down the horses leg, feeling for hot spots.  It felt sound, so he tapped the back of the horses leg and the well-trained Charger lifted his hoof to present it to his trainer.  Immediately, Heath saw the problem.  Wedged in the hoof was a splinter of wood that Heath extracted without too much trouble.  

"Just a splinter, Nate.  Funny though, there doesn't seem to be any fresh gouges in the wood of chargers stall.  Has anyone taken him out, Nate?"

Heath was just attempting to get to his feet when he heard an ominous sound and pivoted slightly.  In the corner of the box, half concealed by the straw was a rattlesnake looking rather annoyed.  Awkwardly frozen in a half crouch, Heath warned Nate in a gentle whisper, "Don't move."

Just as Heath was mentally running down his very short list of options, Nick's voice bellowed from the barn door.  

"Heath Barkley, consider yourself summoned into the presence of our very annoyed mother."

As Nick approached the stall, something didn't feel right about how Nate was perched on the stall wall without even moving his head or hollering a friendly greeting.  Nick was in the doorway of the stall before he even saw Heath frozen in an awkward position, his good hand wrapped in Charger's mane as if to pull himself up.

Heath looked over pointedly at his brother and whispered only one word, "rattler."

Nick slapped his hand to where his gun would have been if he had buckled it on.  He'd only been going out to the barn to see Heath before sitting down to breakfast.  Nick had no inkling that he would need it so desperately this morning.  

Before Nick could think of an alternative plan, all of his options were taken away from him.    

The rattler sounded his deadly warning yet again and Charger's instinctive fear got the getter of him.  The horse reared up as if trying to find a way to climb out of his stall.  Loosing his grip on his horse's mane and shoved off balance by the horses jostling, Heath's precarious balance was lost and he started to fall forward and into the striking range of the deadly snake.  

With no time to even think, Nick did the only thing that he could to protect his injured brother.  He dove into the stall, placing his body as a shield between Heath and the coiled serpent.  Like a scaly bullet, the rattler struck Nick's thigh, sinking his fangs deep into the unresisting black denim and flesh.  

TBC…


	15. Chapter 15

_Ya'll have been such good eggs about these postings, I have one more chapter for you before I head back to work tomorrow.  For those of you taken by surprise when I literally put Nick in harms way, well all I can say is that I try to spread the angst around as evenly as possible.  Some of you know how I feel about Heath.  Nope - you don't have to be an empath to know that.  But, as I've said on another board recently, Nick, eating cookies in my bed & dropping crumbs wouldn't get him the heave ho either…_

_Chianna_

Chapter 15 

Nick's roar of anger and pain carried to the bunkhouse and cowboys streamed into the barn.  Before the snake had a chance to draw back, Nick's own lightening-like reflexes served him well.  He grabbed then snake at the midpoint of its body and swung its head into the side of stall wall until there was no doubt that it was dead. 

With only one good arm breaking his fall, Heath was not quite successful.  When he put out his right arm to brace his fall, his lack of balance pitched him left and his injured side hit the ground.  The pain exploded in his shoulder, numbing his fingers and Heath's only coherent thought was that he was going to get bit because there was no way he could move now.  

Suddenly he heard Nick's roar and opened his eyes to see Nick reducing the snake to a bloody pulp, drop it and sit heavily next to Heath.  At first Heath's mind could not register the events that just occurred through the haze of pain.  He saw faces at the entrance to the stall and felt Nick run his hands over Heath's limbs.  Finally understanding what his brother was doing, Heath took couple of deep breaths to clear the cobwebs.

"I fell Nick, but I'm OK.  It didn't bite me before you got here."

"Mr. Barkley, are you OK?  I saw it bite you."

Both brothers turned to look at Nate.  Suddenly Heath realized that the boy was not talking to him – he was looking at Nick.  He felt hands helping him to sit up as he saw Ciego took a knife and slit Nick's trousers up to mid-thigh.  Moving the cloth aside revealed puncture wounds that could only mean one thing.  He was spared because his older brother sacrificed his life for Heath's. 

Fear, anger and love were at war in Heath's heart.  Anger was the easiest to face and pushed it's way to the front of the crowd of emotions that threatened to overwhelm the young cowboy.

"Dammit Nick!  What the heck were you thinking?  With a whole barn full of tools, couldn't you have found something better to fight that snake with than your own blasted leg?"

"How fast can a snake strike, Heath?"  Nicks voice was level and reasonable.  Almost like a teacher asking a fundamental question that he assumed the whole schoolroom could answer.

Heath blinked.  The question seemed to him to come from left field.

Enunciating with even more precision, Nick repeated, "How fast can a snake strike?  Not sure? Well this is how fast I think it takes - just long enough for me to realize that I couldn't imagine what my life would be like without you here.  You're too weak to fight a snake bite, Heath.  There wasn't any more time to grab a weapon or call out for help.  You were falling, the snake was striking and I made my decision, simple as that little brother."

Heath was humbled by his brother's love and sat there speechless.  

Ciego cut across the puncture wounds and started to draw the poison out.  Then he sent Nate out of the barn to get some dirt mixed with water to make mud that he promptly slapped on the wound and wrapped with an improvised bandage.  

"Carry the señior to the house.  I will go get the doctor."

"I don't need a pack of nursemaids carrying me.  I can walk to the house myself."

"No señior.  The more your heart works, the faster the poison goes though your body.  Let us do all the work, Señior Nick.  Por favor."

Heath placed one arm on Nick's and pushed him back, and this time Nick did not resist.  The boy's heart was in his eyes and Nick could already see that in his silence, Heath was already blaming himself for what was happening to Nick.  They were quite a pair, since Nick had keenly felt responsible for what had happened to Heath.

Jarrod came running into the barn with Nate, who had obviously alerted the family since Audra and Victoria were running as well, there skirts hiked up to increase there speed.  The three family members saw the dead snake and Nick's leg at the same moment.  Wordlessly, Jarrod helped Nick up to his feet and clasped hands with one of the other men, providing Nick with a seat to carry him to the house.  Nate gave Heath a thin hand and helped him to stand as they all went to the house.  

Very little discussion followed in their wake.  All of the hands had seen or heard about someone snake bit at some time or another.  Very few could recall a complete recovery.  Some knew folks that lived but whose effected limb was so badly damaged that it was amputated or grossly disfigured.

TBC… 


	16. Chapter 16

**_If you'd like to read some other works of some of my favorite authors both in progress and completed, check out the Holding Pen!  
_**  
**Chapter 16  
**Heath's faltering steps left him in the wake of preoccupied family members and hands that swept Nick into the house and upstairs to his room to await the doctor's arrival. As he climbed the front steps, Ciego was already heading out of the house. As he passed the young rancher, Ciego placed a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulder. Heath did not raise his eyes to meet those of the Mexican wrangler. Thinking he understood Heath's preoccupation and caught up in the need to hurry on his desperate errand, Ciego mounted his horse and headed to find the doctor.   
  


Not yet ready to face the others, Heath took the back stairs that he had snuck down such a short time ago. A lifetime ago.   
  


Maybe no longer than what was left of Nick's lifetime.   
  


For a moment Heath paused on the stairs as the horror of that thought washed over him, leaving only a sick, empty feeling inside. White-knuckled, Heath gripped the banister. Would that he could hold his brother's life a firmly as he did that familiar strip of wood. Resolved to do just that, Heath resumed his climb up the stairs with a strong determination to make sure that his brother survived.   
  


The scene that Heath took in upon arriving at the door of Nick's room would have looked to the unfamiliar eye as utter chaos. After living two years with his adoptive family, Heath knew better than that. Nick was settled in the eye of a hurricane that was aptly named "Victoria" and two of her children were whirling about, seeing to their Nick's comfort much to his annoyance. He scowled at them all as he rubbed his leg above the bite to ease the pain. The area around the bite was a swollen and fiery red. But Heath had seen rattlesnake bites before and something was different.   
  


Often the skin around the area bitten would swell so that it would actually split, causing vast tissue damage and fearsome wounds. The snake's bite could also make blood flow more freely. Nick's leg wound looked painful but nowhere near as severe as Heath had expected. Exhausted, Heath negotiated his way to a chair at Nick's bedside. Equally weary brotherly eyes met each other. Nick's pain and annoyance at all the fussing was met by a tired, crooked grin.   
In answer to his brother's unvoiced complaint, Heath gently quipped, "Leastwise, if they're fussing over you, I'm left in peace."  
  


Lines of exhaustion ran into those of pain in the dark cowboy's face, but his own strained smile met his brother's.  
  


"You look like hell."  
  


"Could be looking worse." Heath drawled. "If it weren't for a fool older brother of mine."  
Jarrod tried to lighten the concern in his voice as he parried, "Brother Heath, kindly be more specific when you bandy about words like **_fool_** and **_older brother_**."  
  


"Naw, I doubt anybody would get you two confused."  
  


Nick favored both of his brothers with a pointed glare, but the levity was erased instantly as he failed to stifle a gasp and his hand clenched at the pain in his leg.   
  


"Nick, dear. Is it getting worse?" Victoria's face was intent on reading her son's face. He might fool his brothers, but not her motherly scrutiny.   
  


Nick shook his head in the negative, though his breathing seemed slightly harsher.  
  


With an earthy honesty that Jarrod had come to expect from his youngest brother, Heath looked intently at Jarrod and murmured in almost a perplexed tone, "It should be a lot worse. Something's not right about this."  
  


"Heath Barkley, what is the meaning of such talk?" scolded Audra.  
  


Jarrod chimed in quick defense, as his mind had been traveling along similar lines. "No Audra, Mother. Heath's right. It's been almost an hour since Nick was bitten by that rattlesnake. Everything that I have read about bites of this nature leads me to believe that he should be much sicker than he is."  
  


"Thanks Pappy. Next time you have pneumonia, I'll give you a cup of tea and tell you to stop breathing so heavy."  
  


"Now Nick, I'm not minimizing the pain you are in. It's just that…"  
  


Before Jarrod was able to complete his last thought, Nate came running into the room, a mason jar gripped tightly in one hand. A scrap of crumpled paper grasped tightly in the other.   
  


Panting, the boy gasped out, "Mr. Nick! Mr. McCall said that you needed to see this right away." Holding the jar as far away from him as his short arms could manage, the others got their first good look at what the boy was holding.   
  


The clear glass jar had a bit of cloth covering its mouth and secured around the lip of the jar with a length of tightly held twine. At the bottom of the jar was a small amount of vaguely amber fluid that moved sluggishly around the bottom of the container. Thought the rest of his family was confused, Heath knew with certainty that his brother was going to be all right. In his relief, he grasped his brother's shoulder and closed his eyes with a small prayer of thanks. 

Victoria sensed the relief in her youngest son and turned her confused gaze back to her oldest. Jarrod's own understanding was just a step behind Heath's as he recalled reading about Indians that milked snakes for their venom to use as medicine and even poison. Heath's perspective had allowed him to see the two punctures in the material on the edge of the glass.   
  


Nick's head swiveled from one face to another in confusion at the strange reaction that his brothers were having to Nate's jar.   
  


Jarrod was the first to break the silence.   
  


"Heath, is that what I think it is?"  
  


"Yeah – I think we have our answer as to why Nick is not much sicker than he is."  
Nate brought the jar up to his face, almost crossing his eyes as he peered at the container, trying to figure out how it could be the answer to anything. Jarrod snapped out of his elated reverie stepped over and gingerly pulled the jar out of the bemused boy's grip.   
  


"Would someone care to enlighten **_ME_** as to why my two brothers look like throwing a party? You know, the guy that got bit by the snake." Instead of answering, much to his annoyance and that of his mother and sister, Nick's brothers seemed to continue talking in code.  
  


"Looks like he milked it, Jarrod."  
  


"We'll need the doctor to confirm that."  
  


"Confirm WHAT? Dammit, will you two stop talking in riddles!"  
  


Though Jarrod thought Heath looked visibly exhausted, he beat the lawyer to satisfying their much-annoyed brother.  
  


"Nick, you didn't get bit with the full strength of the snake's venom. It looks like this snake was milked of its venom." Nick shot a confused look at Heath and the latter continued his explanation. "Heard tell from a Modoc friend of mind that the Maidu would tip their arrows with rattlesnake poison." Pointing to the mason jar now safely out of the way on Nick's dresser. 

"Think that this is someone's way of updating the practice. Indians probably used animal skin instead of cloth, but the result's the same. Heard tell that the snake needs time to replenish its venom, so we got lucky."  
  


"But what you're really saying is that this was done on purpose, but not to kill me?"  
Victoria's reasoning as sharp as her eldest drew the final pieces together. "More correctly - not to kill Heath." Turning to Nate, she asked, "Do you remember this container being in Charger's stall?"  
  


"No Ma'am! Not even when Mr. Nick here got bit. We moved Charger to clean the hay outta the stall and check for wholes in the boards where a rattler could come in. This was a'sittin in the middle of the stall when I came back from cartin' out the last bit of straw. I called Mr. McCall right away."  
  


Obvious to everyone with alarming clarity was that the enemy was so close. Closer than any of them had possibly imagined.   
  


Jarrod walked over to the boy and ruffled his hair. "You did quite well young man. Good thing that we have you there keeping an eye out for us. Why don't you see if Silas has some sugar cookies? Cleaning out a horse stall can work up a powerful appetite."  
  


"And thirst, too!"  
  


Audra allowed herself a smile. "I bet Silas has some ice cold lemonade to chase down those cookies."  
  


With a high-pitched "Yee Hah", Nate started to run out of the room when he turned back and pressed the all but forgotten paper into Heath's hand.  
  


"Almost forgot Mr. Heath. This was with the jar and addressed to you." Nate dashed out the room thoughts of snakes and scarier things all but forgotten now.  
  


Jarrod watched as Heath unfolded the paper. Heath's face, already unnaturally pale, turned ashen. With thinly veiled anger, his younger brother crumpled the note in one hand and stood and turned as if to leave. Heath's next words did not enlighten anyone in the room.  
  


"Not safe for ya'll. Gotta leave now…"   
  


Victoria started to protest when Heath stopped suddenly.   
  


If Jarrod had not been so intently watching his brother for signs as to what was in the note, he might not have been in time. His only clue was Heath's failed attempt to reach for something to catch his fall and his eyes as they rolled back into his head. Jarrod heard both his mother and Nick call out "Heath" as he reached to grab the younger man under his arms. Jarrod gasped as his hand touched a hot wetness along Heath's side that had been hidden by his dark maroon shirt.   
  


Nick was already painfully moving over on his bed to make room for Heath. "Lay him down over here, Jarrod – next to me - here. What's wrong with him?"  
  


"He's bleeding. I think it's his shoulder, again."  
  


"Oh God, Jarrod, he fell. In the stall. He fell so hard, I think he passed out. We left him out there… alone."  
  


As Jarrod lay Heath down, Victoria's attention was drawn to Heath's left hand that still gripped the wad of paper tightly. A thin telltale rivulet of blood traced its way from beneath his cuff and down his hand. She delicately spread the note, her heart breaking as she noticed Heath's blood discoloring one corner of the paper. Knowing that her children needed to know what it said as much as she did, she read the note aloud.  
  


"Heath Barkley -   
  


I see you missed the punch line of my joke entirely. But your brother Nick seems to have gotten the point. Too bad. But I still have time to sharpen my delivery. At least he got a little taste of what I'm saving just for you. Guess I'll have to be more careful. The rest of your family might not appreciate my sense of humor."  
  


The note was unsigned.   
  


**_TBC…_**  
  
**_So did you all expect that little twist? I had to make sure that our Nick stayed in one piece - relatively. Who knew you could get story ideas from old National Geographics?  
The Maidu are a tribe originally located in North Central California. Actually quite close to Barkleyland. And they really did sometimes dip their arrows with rattlesnake venom. Though the actual "milking" part comes more from modern knowledge – though the animal skin is a possibility – it comes directly from my imagination and no misinformation or disrespect intended. Just a little poetic license._******


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17 

Doc Merar arrived just as Jarrod started to staunch the bleeding from Heath's shoulder wound.  Confused, he looked to Victoria for an explanation. 

"Victoria, I thought that Nick was bitten by a rattlesnake.  Why is Heath here in bed with him?"  Spying the blood on Jarrod's hand, the doctor's voice sounded with concern, "Jarrod, is he bleeding?"

Jarrod nodded grimly while, with deft hands, he checked Heath for other injuries before he turned him over to check his back.

Softly, Victoria filled the doctor in on the events of the morning.  Though it had gotten around town that someone had tried to kill Heath, the nature of the danger and its ongoing threat had not had a chance to circulate.

Howard took in the slightly flushed face of Nick Barkley and the torn pant leg and bandage as Victoria explained the events of the morning.  He moved to Nick's side and cut the bandage from his leg.

Not looking at the doctor's investigation of the bite wound on his leg, Nick only had eyes for his brothers as Jarrod turned Heath on his side to investigate the wounds on his back.  Lower on the bed, Heath's head and shoulders were just about even with Nick's chest.  Nick held his brother's back so that Jarrod could cut the shirt and bloodied bandage.  "Come on doc, mother already told you that I'm fine.  You need to take a look at Heath.  I can wait."

Dr. Merar was systematically cleaning and inspecting Nick's wound.  "Hold still young man.  You may not have gotten much venom with this bite, but I'll not have this wound getting infected.  Your brother seems to be in good hands and it looks to me like the bleeding is slowing.  I'll take a look at him in just a moment."

After showing Victoria how to rebandage Nick's injury, the doctor walked around to the other side of the bad and inspected Heath's older wound.

"Just as I suspected.  You're brother pulled some of the stitches out when he took that fall in the barn.  He'll be fine, Victoria, just fine."  Forgoing more stitches, the doctor wrapped a new bandage and continued,  "I'm thinking that he passed out as much from over exertion as blood loss.  He just needs some rest."  Looking over at Nick, he added sternly, "and some peace and quiet.  No more shenanigans in the barn, or anywhere else, for at least a week for this young man."

Nick sputtered at the injustice of being blamed for Heath being in the barn.  He had no idea that Heath was conscious again until he heard his muffled comment.

"Don't know 'bout that, doctor.  Nick's a tough taskmaster."

Nick snorted and grumbled as Jarrod helped the doctor turn Heath over onto his back.  Jarrod noted with a slight upturn of his lips, no matter how annoyed with their teasing younger brother Nick might be, his arm still cradled Heath's head.

"Why, doctor, he'd probably have me breaking horses tomorrow – less'n you put a few restrictions on him as well – for my own good - of course."

Victoria chimed in with a swish of lavender silk as she approached the bed.  "That goes without saying Nicholas."  Turning to the doctor she raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Well Victoria, even a little rattlesnake venom can act as an anticoagulant.  Nick needs to stay out of trouble, uh rest, for at least three days.  That should give his leg some time to mend as well."  Howard was amused by the byplay between these young men.  He turned to Heath and queried, "Does that meet with your approval?"

Attempting to sit up, Heath groaned softly, "Yes, indeed, Doc Merar.  Anything that restricts Nick's natural inclination to ride herd on all of us lesser mortals will downright insure some relaxation 'round here."

With a gentle shove that propelled Heath out of bed, Nick growled, "Get out of my room before I use my good leg to kick you out."

Leaning heavily against Jarrod, Heath winked sleepily at the doctor.  "See what I mean?  He'll be at the pearly gates, tellin' St. Peter that his fence posts need work.  Who do ya think he'd be ordering to dig the postholes?"  Tapping his chest lightly, Heath answered his own question,  "Yours truly."  He favored Nick with a drowsily crooked grin and got the annoyed growl he has digging for.  With any luck they'd forget about the letter Heath had secreted into his pocket.  But he wouldn't forget.  He had plans to make.  And the main objective was to ensure that one overly protective older brother stayed out of harm's way.

TBC… 


	18. Chapter 18

Sorry this has taken so long.  The next chapter should follow in a couple of days - Chi Chapter 18 – Three Brothers, Three Plans 

Nick's enforced rest was not taken lying down as would be expected of anyone else recovering with a brush with the business end of a rattlesnake.  Heath's last words on the day that Nick had been bitten, struck a chilling note in his older brother's heart.  Plotting was not one of Nick's innate skills, but there was no way that he was going to let Heath out of his sight again.  Least not until they had caught the monster that seemed to be stalking the boy.  

To that end, Nick had summoned several of the hands, one at a time, after breakfast the next morning.  Settled into a chair in the sitting room with his injured leg propped on an ottoman, Nick outlined his double-pronged plan of attack to each of the hands that he took into his confidence.   One, Heath Barkley has a chaperone at all times if he stepped foot outside the house.  And two, the ranch hands would take shifts guarding the immediate property around the house.  Nothing overt, mind you.  Wouldn't want to rile Heath.  Just needed to keep a lookout until they located the nut case that was after his little brother.  

The men were cooperative and soon were strategizing where to keep a lookout, shift changes and how to mask their activities so that Heath would not pick up on their intentions.  

Nick's greatest fear was that Heath would get it into his head to leave the ranch for his family's safety.  That damned note!  Nick's fist pounded the arm of the chair.  Shaking his head, Nick couldn't blame Heath.  He'd want to do the same to protect their family.  Nick couldn't bring himself to tell the hands to prevent Heath from leaving the ranch.  If word got back about that to Heath, why he'd have a fit and be just that much more inclined to leave.  

Now that he had dealt with the problem of protecting his family and especially his brother, Nick appointed himself in charge of making sure his Heath didn't leave the house.  Steepling his fingers, his head bent to ponder the problem, Nick did not realize how much his stance resembled that of his brother Jarrod, who was even now wrestling with his own problem.  

BVBVBVBBVBVBVBVBVBV 

The legal pad was sitting there mocking him.  Jarrod glared at his notes.  Maybe mocking was not quite right; rather it was definitely failing to enlighten him.  He had written down the particulars of what they knew about the situation.  With each numbered point, Jarrod pondered its possible clue.

1.  Party or parties want to kill Heath to see Nick suffer.  

_Does that make something Nick did in his past a cause for someone seeking revenge, Heath? _

2.  Primary target of revenge might be Nick.  Make him watch Heath die???

_But why is Heath seemingly the only intended victim?_

3.  Attacker stated that he had planned this for two years.  

_Could this mean that the originating incident happened two years ago?_

4.  Letter intimates that other members of the family might be in danger.  

Is the object to put the entire family on warning or scare Heath into protecting his family by leaving and therefore exposing himself?

5.  Attacker seems intelligent and patient though vocabulary does not imply higher education.  Willing to leave some things to chance (rattlesnake).  Overconfident?

_I only wish!_

Jarrod growled his frustration at his list notes.  Maybe he should take a page from Heath's attacker and be a bit less methodical and a bunch more random.  With this intent in mind, Jarrod jotted down the first words that came to his head as he pondered the problem.  Not full thoughts, just haphazard bits of flotsam that were rolling around in his head.  Maybe one would give his a clue as to which direction to steer his investigation.  

Brothers

Younger

Older

Revenge

Eye for eye

Dead

Suffer

2 years

Suddenly the words that had been thrown back at his brothers as they rode away jumped from the page and thundered though Jarrod's mind.

Eye for an eye! 

What if the Heath's attempted killer was himself an older brother who had suffered the loss of a younger brother?  Nick was no gunfighter but he had killed in the war and later in self-defense and in defense of his family and their land.  

My God, Jarrod thought to himself, this has to be it!  Jarrod flipped the page and started to write down a few names that he could remember and for want of a name, incidents that might fit the profile he'd just created.  Nick could fill in the rest of the names and Jarrod could hire a detective and start his own inquiries first thing in the morning.  With grim satisfaction, Jarrod pushed himself away from his desk and left the study.  With a bellow of "Nick" that would have done said brother proud, Jarrod went in search of his brother to round out his list.

BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV 

Heath was making plans of his own.  

Everyone in the family was pleasantly surprised when Heath followed the doctor's orders for bed rest for three more days.  He could tell that his mother fretted that he stayed in his room, thinking that he was feeling worse than he let on.  But Heath allayed her concerns with his teasing good humor when she came to sit with him.

On the second day of his self-enforced bed rest, Nick came by and dumped the ranch ledgers in his lap, with a frustrated growl.  Heath's job was to figure out why the accounts were off by $4.57.  Smiling to himself as Nick grumbled and stomped unevenly out his bedroom door, Heath was pretty sure that Nick was more frustrated because he was stumped by his younger brother's uncharacteristic actions, or lack thereof, than the accounting error.  By later in the evening, the limping Nick that stopped by his room and played poker with him seemed to accept that Heath was just being a little more cautious about his recovery this time.  

And relaxing Nick's guard was exactly what Heath was after.  

The blonde also saw the wisdom of being well rested before he left the ranch.  He would have to pack light, but he was used to that.  A bedroll, some clothes and his saddlebags were camouflaged under a couple of neatly folded shirts in his bottom drawer.  Starting tomorrow night, he would start smuggling the items out to the woodpile in back of the house.  

He tipped his head and smiled gently to himself, Nick would never make much of a master criminal.  His "secret" plans to keep tabs of his brother were revealed to Heath almost immediately.  He'd noticed the parade of ranch hands the previous day coming back and forth between the ranch house and knew something was up.  Given the lack of subtlety, Heath was fairly sure that it was his big brother Nick's doing.  It was cinched when Heath overheard a couple of the hands talking near his window.  In the still of warm evening he got an earful.  And more importantly, just enough to have an idea when the hands made their rounds each night.  

Money would be a bit of a problem.  He could draw on the Barkley account anywhere in the country, if needed.  But he knew that once he was gone, Jarrod would ask to be alerted to any activity on the account in order to find Heath.  He couldn't risk accidentally luring one or both of his brother's into the sights of the killer.  There was money in the safe that they kept for petty cash on the ranch.  Though he knew it seemed illogical, Heath felt that taking that money would be line that he could not cross.  

He had about fifty dollars - it would have to be enough.  He could make an adequate living until he was able to lure the killer far enough away from his family.  Then Heath would turn the tables on his stalker, track him down and finish this once and for all.  His biggest problem was getting Charger out of the barn – a barn with its entrance in full view of the main house and bunkhouse.  But he had a few days to figure that out.  He'd be heading out on Saturday.  With many of the hands in Stockton to kick their heels up a bit at the saloon and everyone sleeping in on Sunday, he'd gain a bit more time than if he left in the middle of the week.  Heath was confident that he could cover his tracks well enough to hide the direction that he took away from the ranch.  

TBC… 


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19 

On a working ranch, Saturday was just another day of the week.  Unless, of course, you consider the fact that the end of the day was normally punctuated by a night on the town by most of the hands.  By the time Heath had had roused himself from bed, had breakfast and headed out to the barn, it was almost ten in the morning.  But when Nick spotted him, he was not suspicious of Heath's motives.  He had been lulled into a false sense of security through a relentless campaign orchestrated by his wily and patient adversary.  

The last couple of days Heath had hit the sack early, protesting drowsiness and sore muscles.  In the mornings, he'd slept in and lingered over breakfast in the kitchen with Silas, since most of the family were done before he would get downstairs.  

Nick smelled a rat from the very beginning.   But he just could not figure out Heath's angle.  Thursday night, Heath came down for dinner and later sat in the study, watching as his brother's played a game of billiards.  After sitting for a while, he got up and poured himself a shot of whiskey and settled back down in the chair.  Nick noticed that Heath's movements seemed to slow and stiffen as the night progressed.  Soon, Heath's teasing banter was peppered with as many yawns as barbs aimed at his brothers.  It surprised no one when, at about half passed eight, Heath called it a night and made his way unsteadily upstairs, declining any assistance. 

Sure that something was up, Nick told his family he was going out for a smoke – which lasted all of three unpleasant hours of spying under Heath's window.  Nick was certain that Heath would be shinnying down the trellis next to the balcony any second now.  Shortly after the light had turned on in his room, it turned off once again.  

Crossing his arms in smug certainty, Nick leaned against the wall in the shadow of the balcony.  Oh yeah - he would wait until a booted foot hit the ground.  Wouldn't want to startle Heath and risk him falling.  Mother would scalp him for sure.  Nope.  He knew just what he would say to Heath.  He'd wait until Heath thought he was home free and then step from the shadows.  Just a simple 'where do you think your going, boy' should tell his brother that the jig was up.

Any time now, Nick thought to himself.  But then ten, twenty, thirty minutes went by -and still no Heath.  At the start of the second hour, Nick had convinced himself that he was dealing with a wily customer.  He would show Heath who could out-wait who.  Didn't he spend three nights hiding behind a log with Heath before they caught those rustlers last winter?  

'Course, his natural concern to make sure the horses would be ready to run after the rustlers might have caused him to get up a few times.  Didn't really warrant Heath's whispered threat to "nail his britches to the log is he did keep jumpin' up like a jackrabbit to check on the horses every fifteen minutes."  It wasn't that often, for crying out loud.  

Approaching his third hour under the balcony, Nick started to realize that maybe Heath was not planning on sneaking out that night.  Didn't help that Jarrod came out to mock him with a handful of cigars.  

"Long smoke you've got going here, brother Nick.  Since it's almost midnight, I thought I'd replenish your supply in case you were thinking about standing out here the rest of the night."  As his eyes became accustomed to the dim light, Jarrod noticed that Nick's impatient hands had gone to work on Mother's prized wisteria.  When Jarrod drew Nick's attention to the vine, he noted that there was a significant patch of leafless stems.  

Taking advantage of Nick's dawning realization as to how much trouble he was in with Mother, Jarrod drawled, "You better hit the sack now, Nick, so that you are well rested for Mother's inquisition as to how her wisteria were defoliated overnight."  Jarrod punctuated his suggestion with a toothy grin that could be seen even in the dim light.

Nick rolled his eyes and headed back to the house.  With his own smile, he thought, too bad about those cigars.  Anyone could misjudge the path back to the house and accidentally step on an unfortunately placed brotherly foot.  Must have hurt if Jarrod accidentally dropped the cigars.  Oops, too bad he stepped on them.  Course that little extra twist with his heel wasn't absolutely necessary – but it felt sooooo good.  

Friday night was much the same, though this time, Nick decided to check on Heath after he went to sleep instead of spending half the night outside.  One hour after Heath had labored up the stairs to bed, Nick had snuck into his brother's bedroom.  Heath lay on his back in bed, his right arm lay flung over his eyes and his injured left curled almost protectively on his chest.  The bruises on his chest and arms, stood out like dark shadows in the faint moonlight.  Nick stood at the foot of the bed and wanted to kick himself for thinking that his brother was "playing possum."   The he saw the bottle of pain medicine sitting on the nightstand with a spoon.  Knowing how he felt about medicine, Nick knew that his brother had to be in a lot of pain to start taking the laudanum again.  Heath had never mentioned that he was in that much pain.  But then he never did.  Dammit.  He was looking for Heath to sneak out of the house when he should have been looking out so that his brother didn't overdo his recovery.  Nick's knuckles whitened as he realized he was strangling the bedpost when he really wanted to strangle the man who had done all this to his little brother.  Chastising himself, Nick decided, there and then, that he needed to stop thinking like a warden and start thinking like a brother.  

So, it should be no surprise that when Nick spied Heath going to the stables Saturday morning, Nick's thoughts were to make sure that Heath would not strain himself rather than making sure that he did not take off.  

Nick stepped off the porch and purposefully headed after his brother.  Any lingering doubts that he had about Heath's intentions vanished when saw Heath murmuring to Charger from outside the stall.  Heath's saddle still sat on the ledge of the stall.  There were no saddlebags or bedroll.

Without actually looking toward Nick, Heath addressed his brother.  "Nate's been exercising Charger some.  Told me that he was a bit restless.  Guess he's no more used to being cooped up than I am."

Nick came up to the stall and gave Charger a sound ear scratching that had the appreciative horse leaning against the stall door.  

An idea came to Nick and he immediately shared it with his brother.  "Why don't I give ol' Coco a rest and take Charger out with me to check the north fence line on Monday."  

"Hey, that's a great idea. You wouldn't mind?"

"Naw.  Might even give him his head and see just how fast this horse can go when he has a real rider on his back."

Heath snorted and opened up the door to the stall as he attached a lead to the harness he'd already put on Charger.  

"Where do you think you're going with him?"  Nick couldn't help the note of suspicion that snuck into his head.

"Just going to lead him to the fenced pasture back behind the house.  Thought he'd enjoy kicking up his heels a bit."

Relieved at the simple explanation, Nick over road his brother's plans.  "Back behind the house?  Are you crazy?  That pasture is at least a mile away.  I'll take Charger out there for you.  Find something a little less strenuous to pass the time doing - for crying out loud."

"Alright mother."  Pointing to a couple of bridles in sorry shape hanging near the tack room, Heath suggested, "Guess I can take those into the house and work on them."

Adopting a slightly condescending tone, Nick couldn't help himself as he led Charger out of the barn.  "Hey!  Now there you go.  That's just the type of work a broken down ol' cowboy can handle."

Heath's snort in mock annoyance put a smile on Nick's face.  However Nick would not have been smiling if he had seen the grin of satisfaction that Heath favored his brother's back with as he played unwitting accomplice to his younger brother's plans.

TBC… 


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20 As Heath sat in the parlor working over the bridles, he reviewed his plans – and regrets.  There was no doubt in his mind that if he did not come back from this trip, Nick would be mad enough to dig him up and plug him a time or two just for good measure.   That is, if they ever found out what happened to him. 

Morbid, Heath, very morbid.  The only outcome worth contemplating was the one where he came home after tracking down this stalker and turning him – or his body – over to the authorities.  Then he would have all the time in the world to grovel for forgiveness from his beloved and, more importantly, _safe_ family.

The only one he as not so sure of was Nick.  It was almost too good to be true that Nick offered to take Charger out to the fenced pasture.  The fact that he even offered meant that Nick had no inkling of what his younger brother planned for tonight.  He would be madder than a wet hen when he found out that he had not only been snookered but also volunteered to be an unwitting accomplice.  He'd thought about leaving a note, but decided that Nick's anger might be better in the long run.  If he felt betrayed, maybe he'd think twice about chasing after the one who had caused it.  Mother, Audra and Jarrod would be bad enough, but hurting Nick this way was hard.  

It was for Nick's own good, right?

In his heart, Heath new that the stalker's brand of hate would not be assuaged by just killing him.  If Nick fulfilled the man's desire to watch his brother die, Heath was fairly sure that he would have company at the pearly gates in short order.  He could live with – and even die with his brother's hatred – if it would guarantee that Nick would live to take care of the family that he had grown to love so much.  

Heath didn't think they'd understand how a thirsty man could feel about the first drink of water after a 24-year drought.  He loved his mama dearly.  But in his first twenty-four years of life he had no idea what it would be like to have brothers and a sister.  To be needed.  To have someone who believed you, supported you, defended you as unconditionally as they loved you.  And of his new family Nick had grown to become his staunchest ally, most devoted protector and dearest friend.  Losing Nick – Heath couldn't even think beyond that point – it was simply not conceivable.  He would have given anything to spend the day on the range with Nick, working and laughing side by side one more day.  But Nick took Charger to the pasture and headed out from there for a day of working the ranch.  Closing his eyes to the thought, he tried to swallow down the lump that had formed in his throat.

Noticing the look of pain that crossed Heath's face, Audra put down her needlepoint and moved over to Heath.  Touching his shoulder, she inquired with concern, "Heath, are you in pain?  Can I help?"

"Naw, sis. Just a bit stiff."  _I love you_.

"Can I get you anything?"  

"No sweetheart, Jus' think I'll take a walk around the house and work out a couple of the kinks before I hit the sack."  _Be safe and take care of the others for me – maybe someday help them to understand with your gentle heart.  _

"If Nick was here, he wouldn't be too thrilled about you walking out there alone."

"Alone?  I'll get a chance to say howdy to the hands unlucky enough to be left watching the house while everyone went to town tonight."

"Oh Heath, I wish Jarrod and Nick had stayed home tonight."

"Come on Audra, Nick needed to get away from here and have some fun.  Why he left me with the prettiest nursemaid.  Plus, Nick's bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired."

Shaking her head at him like a schoolmarm thirty years older than her twenty years, Audra brought over a throw and walked over to Heath and draped it over his shoulders.  

"Fine.  Then at least take this blanket.  It's getting chilly."

Heath grumbled good-naturedly as he walked out of the house.  After greeting the hands keeping an eye on the ranch and chatting amicably for a while, Heath made his circuit of the house.  In the shadows of his bedroom balcony, Heath rolled up the blanket, which would serve as a bedroll, and hid it behind the trellis.  Avoiding the bare patch on the vine – Heath smiled.  Soon the roll was snuggly hidden in the gap between the wall and trellis.  It joined the canteen and saddlebags that he had dropped behind the trellis from the balcony on the previous night.  

When he came back into the house, he stopped to kiss Audra goodnight. Then Heath stopped by mother's room where she had retired early with a good book, she thought he came to kiss her goodnight.   Instead he kissed her goodbye.  For a moment, Heath thought that mother had to know what he intended as she scanned his face so intently.  She gave him a hug and Heath couldn't help holding on to the embrace a moment longer than was prudent.

"Night mother."

"Do you need anything?"  At the brief shake of his head, Victoria added, "Sleep well then, son."

Heath went down the hallway and closed the door quietly behind him and went to bed.  

Two hours later, Heath heard the tromping of booted feet trying to sneak up the stairs.  They were home early, he thought.

He was not surprised when he heard the soft creak of his door as it opened.

In the darkness, Nick could just make out the outline of his brother as he slept soundly on his side.  Safe, asleep in bed, Nick thought.  Just needed to make sure.

More softly than anyone would give Nick credit for, he whispered, "Sleep well, little brother."  With hardly a sound, Nick slipped back out of the room and Heath heard Nick as he entered his own room and prepared for bed.  

_Goodbye, big brother_, he thought with more than a few regrets.  

An hour later, Heath slipped down the back stairs.  Picking up the provisions he had hidden behind the trellis and concealed behind the woodpile, he walked to the pasture -where Charger was waiting for him.  

TBC… 


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21 

Riding bareback sent him back a ways.  Easier than riding a bronc, little more physically challenging than riding with a saddle.  He was traveling light, but even so he missed the packing capacity of a saddle.  He had the saddlebags lying in front of him.  If it weren't for his shoulder, he'd have wrapped some items in the bedroll and tied a rope to either end to seal in the meager contents and slung it over a shoulder to hang behind him.  Instead, he secured it around his waist let it fall behind him to rest on the horse's flank.  

The bedroll contained the meager rations that he was able to squirrel away during and after meals in the past week.  Biscuits from breakfast, fruit from the table in the foyer, a little cheese.  Once he was far enough a way from the ranch and in a small enough town where his face would not be recognized, he'd need to provision.  Number one and two on the list would be a saddle and food.  Even a second hand saddle would dip dangerously into the small amount of money he had.  Hopefully he could scavenge enough food on the trail.  To that point and also for his own protection, Heath deeply regretted not finding a way to bring his rifle.  

Boy howdy, had he been surprised when he finally opened the case on Christmas morning.  He could tell that Nick had been beside himself to get Heath to open his present.  Nick had been busting on Heath about the old Henry.  Even nicked and worn, it still shot true.  Good enough for him, he supposed.

To tweak her brother Nick, Audra had kept circling the oblong box - giving Heath every present but the one that Nick was having fits to get his little brother to open.  

Finally, with a wicked smile at her middle brother, Audra placed the long box on Heath's lap.  Nick had inched up to the edge of his chair and was grinning wide enough that you'd think Nick bought the present for himself.  Heath couldn't press a pang of longing for all the Christmas's that he had missed.

Tipping his head to suppress a smile, Heath opened the gift-wrap with agonizing slowness.  Victoria, sensing a conspiracy among Nick's siblings, covered a smile with a daintily placed hand.  

Nick could not stand the suspense any longer.

"FOR PETE'S SAKE, HEATH.  YOU OPEN A PRESENT SLOWER THAN SISSY KNIPPLEMEYER"S 80-YEAR OLD MAIDEN AUNT HORTENSE."

"Nick, you never told us! You've been sparking Sissy's Aunt Hortense and giving her gifts too?

Jarrod had picked an inopportune time to take a sip of the eggnog.  Breathing in at the wrong moment with an involuntary need to laugh, he choked and sputtered.  Distracted, Nick walked over to slap his older brother's back on his way to throttle his youngest male sibling.  

"Just open the damn present!" Nick growled.  

Victoria would have chastised her son for his vulgar language if she could have just cleared her mind of the picture Heath conjured up of Nick courting Hortense Knipplemeyer.  Every time she thought of her son sitting on the Knipplemeyer porch wooing Hortense made her breathless with barely suppressed laughter.  

Audra and Jarrod were not as thoughtful of Nick's feelings.  Audra was doubled over, practically in tears with laughter and between nearly choking and uncontrollable laughter, Jarrod had yet to catch his breath. 

Seeing Nick approach, Heath looked up in mock terror and ripped into the present like a hurricane – paper flying everywhere.  Uncovered was a beautifully carved case with the Winchester logo.  In the center, the entwined letters "H" and "B" were etched into the wood as well.  All laughter stilled as Heath traced the "B" with unconscious reverence.  Looking up at Nick and holding his gaze, Heath's fingers found the snaps, sprang them open and lifted the lid while his eyes never left his big brother's.  All thought of anger gone, Nick tilted his head toward the case and smiled.   Heath finally looked down.  

In green felt, soft as velvet, lay the most beautiful rifle he had ever set eyes on.  Heath picked up a certificate.  The document, in elegantly printed type, certified that this firearm was a 1876 Winchester "One of One Thousand."  Every Winchester was individually tested for accuracy.  Only the most remarkably accurate were labeled "One of One Thousand."  Heath recalled an article in the San Francisco Chronicle that said of the thousands of '76's that were made, only ten to date had been called the revered "One of Ten Thousand."  The article listed some of the owners as heads of state and barons of industry.  And now, one Heath Barkley of Stockton, California, could be added to the list.  Heath's hand shook as he held up the certificate and noted that Oliver F. Winchester had personally endorsed the certificate.  

Nick saw the certificate shake in Heath's suddenly unsteady hand.  Gently, his other hand glided along the intricately detailed barrel and finely grained walnut stock.  Nick saw Heath's head shake negatively and knew without a doubt what was coming.  Before Heath could protest at the extravagance of the gift, Nick lifted the certificate from Heath's hand, turned it over, placing it back in his brother's open palm.  

It read:

"A One of One Thousand from a man who was lucky enough to find a brother who is one in one million. - Nick"

Suddenly all business, Heath hefted the rifle, checked the bolt to assure that it was empty and sighted down the long barrel.  Then he stood up and for the first time looked his brother Nick in the eye.  With the rifle firmly gripped in his hand, he grabbed Nick in a hug that threatened to crack a couple of ribs.  

Quietly, so only his brother could here, Heath said, "It's too much.  I don't..."

Equally soft, Nick replied, "It's only as good as the man that holds it.  Never sell yourself short within my earshot.  I'm not so old that I couldn't knock a little sense into you, boy."

Heath pulled back from his brother's embrace and favored him with a lopsided grin, his aquamarine eyes shining overly bright with suspect moisture.  

"Just please tell me that you didn't give one of these beauties to Hortense Knipplemeyer."

Nick grabbed Heath around the back of the neck, yanking him a step closer and grumbled affectionately, "I don't think that I'm the one that is obsessed with Hortense, little brother."

Audra gave both of her crazy brothers a hug and Jarrod got up to get a closer look at the rifle.  His mother was looking fondly at all four of them.  

Heath blinked a couple times in the darkness and held that picture of his family close to his heart.  

Part of him wanted Nick to find him.  Ruthlessly Heath squashed what he thought was weakness.  Heath was quite sure that there was no one currently on the ranch that had the skills to track him.  He owed the Modoc who had given him Gal for his tracking abilities.  Heath had little time for ego puffing, boasting or false modesty.  He was just that good.  Lucky for him that he had also learned just as many ways to evade pursuit as well.  Yeah, real lucky.  

Another heart, cloaked in darkness, rode not far behind the younger man preoccupied with his fond memories.  Rawlston's thoughts mulled over only one problem.  With both his prey now separating, how ever was he going to bring them together and not tip his hand?  He smiled grimly.  They were playing right into his hands.  This was almost going to be too easy.  

TBC… 


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22 Jarrod walked into Nick's room, turned out quite well in his Sunday finest.  Nick was still in bed.  Lying on his stomach, he had one arm flung out to the edge of the bed and the other curled on the pillow and cradling his head.  Almost face down, Jarrod never understood how Nick could sleep like that and not smother himself.  Smiling, Jarrod queried. "Nick, are you awake?" 

"No."

"Sounds like you're awake."

"You have no respect for the dead." Grumbled a muffled voice.

"Would that be dead tired or dead drunk?"

"Har, dee, har, har."

Nick turned over to face his brother, the sheets twisting more tightly in a tangle around his legs.  

"That was only two whiskey's last night, and we came home early." 

"I take it you are not joining us for church."

Nick smiled.  None of the brothers were fond of going alone to church, as all of the matchmaking mamas would be out in full force.  The brothers agreed that there was safety in numbers, but having them all there only intensified the scrutiny by the fairer sex of Stockton.  Maybe it was more honest to say that misery loved company.

"Take Heath."

"I would but mother said that he stayed up later last night.  He hasn't come down to breakfast yet and mother said we might as well let him catch a little extra sleep."

A wily smile crossed the younger brother's lips.  "Well now, I think that I will just have to stay home to make sure that our poor wounded brother is adequately entertained."

"Niiiiick?"  Jarrod drawled with a tone that was suspicious of the other's motives.

"Aw heck, Jarrod.  Heath's been cooped up in this house all week.  I'll let him sleep a little longer and maybe take him for a ride."

"Your on your own, brother Nick.  If questioned, I will disavow any knowledge of this discussion."  Then with a more serious tone, he added, "Play it safe, Nick.  Don't stray to far from the house and make sure that Silas and the hands know where you are headed."

"Awwww, come on Pappy, you know I'd never let anything happen to him."

"I'm equally worried about what could happen to you."

"Mother hen."

"Yeah, well someone has to keep the two of you in line."

"You can work on that as soon as you get back from church."

Not thrilled at the reminder, Jarrod threw a sour glance back at his brother as he left the room.  

BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV

Nick pushed himself back from the breakfast table.  He was enjoying his lazy Sunday morning; it was long since time to wake up his blonde goldbricking brother.  

10 am!

Nick couldn't even remember the day that Heath had ever slept in that long – not even with a hangover.  Tromping up the stairs, Nick thought that he would give Heath fair warning.  

"GET UP HEATH! I'M BUSTING YOU OUTTA HERE!"

As he rounded the corner and entered Heath's bedroom, Nick more meekly added.  "But we need to go before mother gets…"

Stopped short when he was greeted with a made, and very empty, bed.  Nick went out into the hall.  He wasn't in the family bathroom or guest bath.  He wasn't in Mother's, Jarrod's or Audra's room.  The beginnings of a sneaking suspicion were setting off alarm klaxons in Nick's head.  Hanging over the railing on the second level, Nick hollered for help from the one person that knew the comings and goings of the Barkley clan better than anyone else.  

"SILAS!  SILAS, WHERE ARE YOU?"

Appearing from out of the parlor, Silas replied in gentler tones, "I'm here Mister Nick.  What would you be needing?"

"Have you seen Heath this morning?"

"Haven't seen Heath since last night.  Your Mother said that he was still a sleepin'."

"I don't think he's anywhere in the house."  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Nick was as certain of what he would, or rather - wouldn't find - as he was of the headache that was pounding it's way out of his head.  

Taking the steps down in double time, Nick was out of the house in a second.  He headed to the barn and grabbed the reins of the first horse that he saw saddled from a startled hand.   He pulled up just as they arrived at the pasture.  Charger was nowhere to be seen.  Damn.  Heath was gone.  Wheeling his mount around, Nick headed back to the barn.  He knew how Heath had avoided being seen while taking Charger out of the barn last night.  Heath would pay for that.  But Nick had no idea how his brother had managed to carry his saddle out of the barn, to the pasture seemed quite impossible.  

Nick's answer stared back at him the moment he entered the barn.  Heath's saddle sat where it always did when not in use.  Nick couldn't believe that Heath would be foolish enough to try and leave the ranch riding bareback, but the proof was lying right in front of him.

"Idiot boy! What the hell was he thinking?"  

"What's wrong Mr. Barkley?"

Not expecting Nate to be in the barn, Nick was take off guard.  "Uhhh, I think Heath took Charger out for a ride."

Nate stepped out of one of the stalls, a currycomb in his hand attesting to his reason for being there.  Nate's eyes followed Nick's to where Heath's saddle sat in the barn.  

"I thought the doctor said that Mr. Heath shouldn't…"

"Yes, he said that."

"Should I get the hands?

"Yeah, that would be real helpful Nate."

Nate was scared.  He wasn't sure exactly why, except that Mr. Nick looked really, really serious and maybe a little scared too.  

Nate ran all the way to the bunkhouse and burst through the door.  Slamming back on it's hinges, the door crashed against its frame.  Nate needed no other announcement to alert the crew of his presence.  

"Hey y'all.  Mr. Nick needs everyone in he barn.  Mr. Heath's gone missing."

BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV

Heath had doubled back on his trail so many times, he thought he might have a hard time remembering which way he was really going.  He used every trick he knew to also obscure his trail.  He had crossed over rocky ground that would obscure any foot print and walked Charger up stream to hid his tracks as well.  Ironically now that he was headed in his true intended direction, he took a main wagon trail where Charger's train would be mingle with all the rest and soon obliterated by the higher traffic that passed through here.

Knowing that he was doing what he had do to didn't made his tired, sore body feel any better.  Early on, Heath realized that he needed to keep the number of times that he got off the horse down to a minimum.   Every time that he stopped made it harder to mount back up with his stiffening muscles. 

Hadn't much luck in the hunting department either.  His revolver did not give him many options.  Heath had been lucky that the grandfather of all rabbits had hopped relatively slowly across the path or he would be dining on just biscuits and cheese.  As it was, the stringy hare probably wouldn't offer up enough meat for even one meal.  

Heath was almost too tired to care about food by the time that he made camp Sunday evening.  He had been in the saddle for almost 18 hours straight.  After dressing the rabbit and cooking his meager meal, his appetite was almost nonexistent.  After laying a trail that would lead any pursuer to believe he was heading to Sacramento, Heath headed in his intended direction for Markleeville.  After arriving there, if he'd not found a temporary job, he could head north to Carson City.  

Using his lumpy saddlebags as a pillow, Heath put the last wood that he gathered on the fire and tried to get comfortable wrapped in the blanket that seemed inadequate for the task of keeping him warm.  Heading into the high country, the days could get up to ninety plus degrees.  But at night the temperature could plunge as much as forty degrees to the fifties.  Not too bad when he was feeling 100 percent.  Now, however, the cold seemed to wrap its fingers around him and dig deep into his muscles.  When he finally nodded off, it seemed like it was just a moment later when the light of Monday morning roused him once again.   

Uncurling from under the blanket with a groan he wrestled his boots on and stood up.  Well almost stood up.  It took some moving around to loosen up Heath's sore muscles.

Gathering up the bedroll and saddlebags after dousing the fire, Heath moved over to Charger and replaced the bridle.  Getting on Charger's back looked something akin to scaling Pike's peak.  Ever practical, he felt no shame in moving Charger over to a rock and scrambling ungracefully from the advantage the slight elevation afforded.

If he pushed it, Heath thought he might make Markleeville in two more days.  He needed some decent food and rest.  Hopefully, he would spot a small ranch that could use some help in exchange for bedding down in the bunkhouse or barn.  

BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV

With admirable economy of effort, Nick directed some of the men to scour the immediate area and a couple of the best trackers to see if they could pick up a lead as to what direction Heath might be headed.  Nick went back to the house and directed a rider to go to the telegraph office.  He was going to have a message sent to most of the towns in the area to reply by telegraph if a certain blond family member was seen on a bay stallion.  Specifics on descriptions were detailed as well as the fact that the rider might be checking with livery stables in need of a saddle.  Reward upon receipt of information leading to the location of this man was offered.  

Nick was not going to let his younger brother get the best of him.  He planned to head out as soon as his family returned from the Sunday services.  Jarrod had contacts in law enforcement that might be of assistance.

Nick was pacing in the foyer one hour later when his family arrived back from Stockton.  It was now early afternoon and he keenly regretted any delay in going out and searching for his brother.  Two of the men had reported back that the tracks seemed to be heading for Sacramento.  

Jarrod was ushering the women into the house, when Nick pounced on his unsuspecting family.

"It's about time that you got back home."

Victoria frowned.  "That's a lovely way to greet your family, Nicholas Jonathan Barkley."

Nick offered no apologies – just two simple words, "Heath's gone."

That got his family's attention. 

The lawyer was the first to respond.  "Where?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't be standing here right now."  Going into the study, Nick apprised his family of the details of Heath's 'escape' and the steps that he had taken to this point.

Victoria was the first to speak when Nick had finished.

"Did you check his room?"

"Of course I checked his room.  He didn't take much.  He left his rifle and saddle.  What the hell was he thinking?"

"Probably that he couldn't smuggle the rifle out without someone noticing.  The saddle…  You said you took Charger to the back pasture?"  Jarrod contemplated that for a minute.  Quietly, he added, "I imagine he didn't think that he could manage carrying the saddle as well as whatever he took, for that distance."

For the first time in the conversation, Audra interrupted.  Looking at both of her brothers, she pleaded.  "You have to find Heath and bring him home."

Placing an arm around his sister's waist, Jarrod gently guided his sister into the parlor and made her sit on the sofa.  "Honey, you know that Nick and I will do everything that we can to find him."

Aware of the inadequacy of his assurance, Jarrod's face grew grim.  Jarrod didn't have it in his heart to make promises that he wasn't sure in his own heart he could keep.  A small hand slipped over Jarrod's.   He looked up to see his sister's face shine at both of them with enough faith to almost make true believers both her older brothers as well.

BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV  

Heath couldn't believe his luck when he saw a curl of smoke rise from a tree lined clearing about a mile north of where he was traveling.  Directing Charger in that direction, the cowboy was rewarded with the sight of a small homestead nestled on a rise overlooking a stream.  It had a homey look, with an extensive vegetable garden behind the house and gentle blooms gracing the front.  As he approached the house, the state of disrepair came into sharper focus.  The fence around the paddock had planks shoved up against the posts in an attempt to keep it from falling over.  A stack of shingles lay to the side of the house, partially covered by a tarp.  Looking up at the roof, it was obvious that they were sorely needed.  With any luck, these folks would see the advantage of hiring a little help for room and board.  With any luck they wouldn't notice that he was a little banged up until he already had the job.  

Seeing no one out front, Heath started to walk his horse over to the hitching post in front of the house.  Just as he had gotten to within thirty feet of the house, the front door slammed open and a formidable looking older woman appeared.  What she carried was even more fearsome and both barrels were aimed squarely at Heath's chest.

**_TBC…_**


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23 

The kid had set a blistering pace.  After eighteen hours in the saddle on that first day, Rawlston felt every one of his thirty-nine years.  His only consolation was that he was better provisioned and in better shape than the younger man setting the pace up ahead.  He had expected the turn of events, even provoked the outcome.  Hadn't expected Barkley to hit the road as soon as he had, but the letter he had left with the jar of venom had provoked the intended outcome.  

But even Barkley's unexpected departure would work in the schemer's favor.  He had to be just about done in after two days of hard riding.  And bareback, Rawlston chucked to himself.  He'd have sore muscles where he didn't even know he had muscles.  When the kid finally stopped he would probably stay put for a while.  

Rawlston had taken most of the night shifts guarding around the ranch house the previous week.  His keen eyes had seen what they had expected to see.  The youngest Barkley boy had been making plans of his own.  Rawlston had been tipped off when he heard rustling near Heath Barkley's window.  Checking later that night, Rawlston found where the kid was stashing provisions for a clandestine escape.  

In town on Saturday night, Rawlston paid off a kid to bring what looked like a faked telegraph message that his mother in Clarksburg had taken ill and needed him.  It was priceless, just priceless that Nick Barkley had been sitting at the table playing poker with them.  The magnanimous rancher had told him to "take all the time you need, Lance."

"Right kindly of you Mr. Barkley.  I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Take you time and take care of you mother.  And make that Nick.  This Mr. Barkley stuff makes me feel as old as the hills."

Rawlston tipped his hat in mock appreciation and once out of earshot laughed to himself all the way back to the ranch. He was not disappointed.   Heath Barkley left that very night.  Now if he settled for a spell, Lance thought he'd have enough time to head back to the Barkley ranch, pass out the appropriate invitations to the party that he was holding and then come back and pick up the guest of honor.  Rawlston believed that all this could be accomplished without tipping his hand and so far  - he'd been right.

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Facing a cranky old lady with a sawed off Greener was not exactly how Heath had hoped he would end the day's ride.  Keeping a grip on the saddle horn with one hand in clear view, he tried to telegraph his intent to keep his hands as far away from his sidearm as he could manage.  Heath knocked his cream colored Stetson back on his head exposing a lick of golden hair.  He hoped that his relaxed bearing would convey the innocent-cowboy-up-to-no-harm impression that worked well for him with the ladies in the past.  From the grim set of her mouth and the unwavering shotgun barrel still pointed in his direction, Heath was fairly sure that the this woman, at least, was immune to the famous Barkley charm.

"What's your business here, boy?"

"Howdy ma'am.  Been riding quite a way and I was hopin' that I could put up my horse and maybe sleep in the barn for the night."  Gesturing to the rickety fence, Heath added.  "I could use a job.  I'm good at mending fences.  Looks like your roof could use some work too."

"Never you mind what needs fixin' 'round here."  Motioning at his horse with the barrel of the shotgun, she added, "You steal that horse?"

Realizing for the first time how it looked for a cowboy to be bareback, Heath was unsure what to say next when Charger came to the rescue.  Swinging his head to take a playful nip at his rider's knee, Charger nickered softy and accepted a rub along his neck from a grateful Heath.  

"Naw, Ma'am.  Charger and I are old friends.  I had a parting of the ways with my old saddle and need to work for the money to buy a new one."  No sense in providing too much detail, thought Heath.  Let the old girl draw her own conclusions.  Which is exactly what she did.  

"Playing demon poker, I imagine."

Sounded likely.  Heath tried to look ashamed to set the story.  

"I've got no work for you to do, so it's best you move along."

"I'd work for room and board ma'am.  Charger and me don't need much.  I could bunk in the barn with him."

"I said git!"  The shotgun moved from where it was planted on her hip to her shoulder and it looked like she meant business as the old woman sighted down the barrel.  

Heath was surprised that she wouldn't even let him bunk in the barn for the night before heading out again in the morning.  Western hospitality was fairly ingrained in the folks west of the Mississippi.  You never knew when you'd be the one in need.  Tired, sore and frustrated, Heath looked around at the ramshackle ranch.  What the hell was of such value that she's pass up on his offer.

Heath did not have long to wait for his answer.  He heard them before he saw them.  For the first time, the old woman's shoulders slumped in defeat as the song carried from somewhere behind the house.    

Lavender's green, dilly, dilly**  
Lavender's blue,  
You must love me, dilly, dilly  
'Cause I love you.  
Down in the vale, dilly, dilly  
Where flowers grow,  
And the birds sing, dilly, dilly  
All in a row.  
A brisk young man, dilly, dilly  
Met with a maid,  
And laid her down, dilly, dilly  
Under the shade.  
I've heard them say, dilly, dilly  
Since I came hither  
That you and I, dilly, dilly  
Might lie together.  
Therefore be kind, dilly, dilly  
While here we lie,  
And you will love, dilly, dilly  
My dog and I.  
**A child's voice interrupted the song.  "Would she really have to love his dog too, Mama?"

A gentle chuckle followed the question.

"Maybe - but only if it was a very fine dog.  A girl should have her standards."

Heath couldn't help a smile of his own upon hearing this interesting insight into the female psyche.  A child's giggle joined with a younger woman's gentle laughter and the two rounded the corner from the back of the house.   A child of about four was being carried piggyback style.  The young woman wore a plain gingham blue dress.  The little girl wore a simple blouse of the same material and pants.  Heath could remember wearing many a shirt made of the same material as that of his Mother's and Aunt Rachel's.  In a poor household, no scrap was ever wasted.  

Turning back from his thoughts to the young mother and child, Heath's breath caught in his throat.  No wonder the old lady was wanting to chase him off as quickly as possible.  The treasure she'd tried so hard to protect stared back at him in the guise of two pairs of stunning golden amber eyes.  The child's face was still open and guileless.  The young woman, however, looked wary, letting the child slip down from her back.  Sensing her mother's unease, the little one clung warily to her mother's skirts but eyed him with unabashed curiosity.  Heath looked over to the woman standing on the porch, still feeling the younger woman's gaze on him.  

With an understanding smile, Heath sought to ease the situation and make a graceful exit – or at least one that was not punctuated by double aught buckshot.

"Well ma'am, I think I can understand your concern about strangers hanging 'round your homestead now.  I'll be heading out right away.  I'd just ask if I could draw some water from your well to give to my horse and fill my canteen.  If you'll allow it, I'd be much obliged."

Obviously relieved, the older woman dropped the shotgun from her shoulder and used it to motion toward the well.   

"Help y'orself, but be quick about it, boy.  We're wasting daylight."

Heath swung his right leg over Charger's neck and slipped off, both feet hitting the ground together.  Heath grabbed a handful of Charger's mane as he steadied his tired legs and started to walk over to the well.  

Agnes kept the old Greener aimed at the boy.  He'd sounded sober – but he sure was walking like a drunk that was trying too hard to look sober.  She stomped down on her natural inclination toward concern.  Her care should be focused on the two that were left in her care and not some saddle tramp.  Or, in this case, saddleless tramp.  

The cowboy was pulling up the well bucket when nerveless fingers let go of the crank, letting the bucket fall back with a splash.  One hand reached unsuccessfully to steady himself on the side of the well.  The next thing Agnes knew, the blond had slid down to side of the well, his rear end hitting the dirt in an unceremonious puff of dust.  The canteen rolled out of his hand and his head rested back with eyes closed as he leaned back against the well for support.  

Expecting to be shot at any moment, instead Heath heard, "Look mama.  The man fall'd."

That's just great, Heath thought.  Trying to control the dizziness and rebellious stomach, he couldn't bring himself to care what happened next.  He was so embarrassed.  Heath thought for a moment that he'd rather have pitched head first into the well, rather than let that those two women see him as weak-kneed as a newborn colt.  The silence was broken by running feet – the hollow sounds of footfalls on the porch boards and the closer light pounding of feet on dirt.  

Taking slow measured breaths, Heath heard the bucket cranked back up to the top of the well once again.  He heard water poured in a container.  Soon he felt a little finger poke him in the chest.  

"Mama.  I think he's dead."  Two more pokes followed in quick succession.  "Yep, mama. He's dead."  Heath marveled at the little one's matter of fact delivery until her finger hit a still sensitive spot on his ribs.  Heath couldn't help a soft involuntary grunt to escape.  He felt his face flush with embarrassment.  Cracking one eye open, he was greeted by two sets of eyes just a bit closer than he was ready to focus on just yet.

"Not dead, lil' bit.  Just awful embarrassed to have…" Heath's voice trailed off and he simply motion to the ground around him.  

"Are you alright mister?"

Heath's other eye opened and for a moment he felt a little lightheaded again.  But it had nothing to do with long rides, sore muscles or lack of sleep.  

The young woman in front of him looked as pretty as the first wildflower of spring.  Fey and fragile looking, with her hair - a slightly wild' dark cloud around her face - she appeared to me more of a wood sprite than the wife and mother she obviously was.  

And then he realized he hadn't heard a word she said.  

"What?"

"Mister… are you alright?  I said I have some water here for you."

"Yeah… Uhhh…Thanks, Miss.  My name is Heath, Heath Barkley"  

Taking a long swallow of the cool water gave him a chance to clear his head.  

"I'm fine ma'am.  Had a little accident last week and maybe bit off more than I could chew."

Still holding the shotgun, but with it now pointing at the ground, the older woman didn't seem as all fired up to drive him away.  No, now it looked to Heath like she was inspecting him as one would some exotic bug.  Looked to Heath like the jury was still out about whether she wanted to squash him or not.  

Agnes was annoyed to find that she had actually been concerned when she saw the boy hit the dirt.  Dang blast it, if he didn't seem to have an honest face.  Those blue eyes of his seemed so guileless.  Seeing him up close, she could believe that he'd been ill recently.  Several inches of belt were pulled through the loop and knotted to hang down from the cowboy's slim waist - obviously a stopgap measure in the absence of a hole that would hold the belt tight enough to keep his britches up.   Agnes felt herself softening up to the boy - against her better judgment.

Speaking up, she said not unkindly, "Looks to me like you haven't bit off much to chew lately."

"Yes ma'am.  But I'll have plenty once I get to Markleeville…"

The young woman looked alarmed, replying, "But that's fifteen miles away and it's getting late."  Turning to the older woman she entreated.  "Agnes, Mr. Barkley could stay the night in the barn, couldn't he?"

Obviously, her daughter-in-law had been won over by her own inclination to take in strays and the gentleness she saw in those blue eyes.  Gruffly, so as to hide her own weakening resolve, Agnes replied "Take him to the barn so's he can get his horse settled.  I'll warm up the leavings from dinner.  Come back to the house and you can take it out to him, Lily."  Pinning the blond with a mock glare, Agnes added, "But come morning, Mr. Barkley, you are hitting the road."

Looking up, Heath replied, "Yes Ma'am, and thank you ma'am."  Getting up awkwardly, since his left shoulder was sore and stiff, Heath straightened and took hold of Charger's reins and followed the young woman to the barn.  

Hollering after the retreating pair, she added, "And stop with all the ma'am this and ma'm that.  Name's Agnes Stuart."

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Lily led the way to the barn a couple paces ahead of the blond cowboy.  Rose had been insistent about going along with her mother.  She could tell by the unnatural quiet from her daughter, that Rose was as intrigued with the stranger as she was herself.  Lily's daughter tugged at her mama's skirt.  

In a whisper that was just shy a shout, Rose asked, "He's kind a pretty mama, don't you think?"

Heath almost laughed but he couldn't help wanting to hear Lily's response. 

"Men are handsome.  Ladies are pretty," was the uncomfortably whispered response.  

Rather noncommittal, Heath thought.  

"Well I think his eyes are pretty, not that _'some_ thing you said, mama."

Well he'd defiantly won over at least one of the Stuart ladies.  

Entering the barn, Lily turned to Heath.

"You'll find our tack room on the other sided of the barn.  We used to have a hand that stayed there.  There's a cot and washbasin."

"It's a bunch better than I could have expected on the trail, Mrs. Stuart.  Are you sure this will be okay with your husband?"

Seeming to ignore Heath's last question, Lily replied, "I'll be back with leftovers and clean blankets.  Make yourself to home."

Reaching down to take Rose's tiny hand, she turned to shepherd her daughter out of the barn.  

That was that, or at least that was what Heath thought until Lily paused in the doorway.  Without turning around she did finally answer his question. 

"My husband died almost four years ago.  If your staying here is okay with Agnes, than that is good enough for me." 

BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV

Lily was distractedly stirring the kettle of stew on the cast iron stove.  Agnes watched her with the same concern that she would hold for one of her own.  Paul had found a wife that became the daughter of her heart.  When her son had died suddenly, it was Lily and her granddaughter that came close to filling the space that his death had carved out of her heart.  

Lily had been so young when Paul had married her and brought her out west from their home in Illinois.  Going out to California with her son and daughter-in-aw, Agnes had been worried about being a third wheel.  Instead, Lily had clung to her as the mother she had not known.  Though Lily rarely talked about her family, Agnes knew that she had lost her mother at a very early age.  

Men had passed through the ranch on the way to somewhere else.  Lily had never given any one a second glance – though more than a few had been attracted to her.  One man's violent intentions a couple of years ago had given birth to Agnes's fierce protectiveness she had displayed to the boy in the yard tonight.  

Now Lily's sympathetic reaction and distraction after meeting that cowboy gave Agnes pause.  For the first time, she realized what their solitary existence might mean for a young'un like Lily.  She' been a widow now longer than she had been a wife.  She was too young to sentence herself to a solitary life.  Agnes's concern had melted some at the boy's polite ways and lopsided smile.  Watching Lily absent-mindedly stirring the stew made her think that those gentle blue eyes might have driven a small chink into the armor Lily had erected about her heart.  

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Lily spooned some of the reheated stew onto a tin plate and cut a generous hunk of bread.  She placed the plate on a pile of blankets and a pillow and carried them out of the house.  Rose had gotten up to go with her, but one look from her mama had sent her back to her grandma with a pout.

Confused at her reaction to the cowboy, Lily had decided that her state of mind was somehow his fault.  Frankly, she would be glad when he left so everything would go back to normal again.  She was deep in her own thoughts when she entered the tack room.  Lily stopped dead in her tracks when she saw his state of undress.  Though his right arm was still covered by his blue shirt, his left arm and shoulder were exposed.  Water in the basin attested to the fact that he had been washing up.  But right now his right hand was trying to reach his back with little success.  Her eyes were drawn by this action and were shocked at what she saw.  

There was no question that, though he looked like he had lost some weight, he was one very well put together man.  At this thought, Lily blushed fiercely.  Broad shoulders tapered to a lean waist.  Muscles rippled as he moved - their sun-kissed tone and definition attesting to the fact that this man was no stranger to hard outdoor work.  She took this all in and one more item that drew an involuntary gasp.  The barely healed scar on his right shoulder could have been made by nothing other than a bullet.  Black stitches stood out in marked contrast to the wound they mended.

Alerted to her presence when he heard her gasp, the cowboy swung around quickly, trying to awkwardly pull the shirt over his shoulder.  

Taken off guard, Lily stammered almost in accusation, "You've been shot."

Heath searched her face, the possible conclusions that she could draw making him cautious of his answer.  He decided not to volunteer too much – give himself time to think.  

"'bout ten days ago."

"By the law?"

"No reason for you to believe me, but no."

He was right.  She had no reason to believe him – but in a way she didn't quite yet fathom – she did.  The stitches were all quite regularly spaced and neatly tied.  She doubted that a criminal would find such good care if he was on the run.  But he obviously was running from something, and just as obvious, he wasn't about to volunteer the information.  

As he had turned, Lily noticed that the wound on his back was mirrored by a smaller one in front.  He'd been taking the stitches out himself when she arrived, and not very carefully. Twin rows of pinholes looked an angry red.  Nearby them were several nicks, which were explained by the pocketknife in his hand.  

"That's no way to take out stitches."

"Sometimes you have to make due with what you have."

"Sometimes you might try asking for a little help."

"Been to that well a couple times today.  Didn't want to overstep my welcome."  

Lily realized that she was unreasonably annoyed with the cowboy, but she was not yet ready to analyze the reasons why this would be so.  Instead, she thrust the plate of stew and blankets into his hands.  

"Eat this.  I'll be back with a pair of scissors so I can take out the rest of your stitches."

"You don't have to go to the trouble."

"Right, so than I get to worry about you getting an infection while your out on the trail."

Heath's teasing words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to take them back.  

"Really? You'd worry about me?"

The smile was wiped off Heath's face with Lily's smug reply.

"Why, no, Mr. Barkley.  I'd be worried that word would get out that Agnes and I associate ourselves with someone that lacked the good sense to ride a horse using a saddle and take stitches out of himself without creating the need for more."

It was Lily's turn to flash a smile of victory as she walked out of the barn.

BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV

When Lily returned to the cabin, she was muttering to herself.  Agnes was surprised at Lily's obvious annoyance.  Maybe she had misjudged her daughter-in-law's attraction to the newcomer.  Then again, she reminder herself that no one could get her goat faster or more thoroughly than her dear departed husband.  She smiled as much at her fond remembrances of Simon as she did at Lily's poorly hidden annoyance.  

"Problem Lily?"

"He doesn't have the sense to come in out of the rain.  Likely dropped on his head as a baby."

"Oh, I don't know, Lily.  He seemed well spoken to me."

Searching through her sewing basket, Lily found her scissors.  "He was trying to take out some stitches with a pocket knife."

"Not very efficient, but I can't see why that would bother one over much."

"Not stitches in material.  Stitches in his smug, arrogant, overbearing hide."

"So when he got dizzy today, he wasn't just saddle weary?"

"No. He'd been shot."

Agnes's amusement turned to alarm.  "What?"

"He said it was about ten days ago and that it wasn't the law."

"You believe that?"

"I'm beginning to believe that he is too pigheaded to lie."

"Oh, honey, men are like that.  Paul and my Simon were just the same.  They'd cough up a lung before admitting that they needed to see a doctor.  But when they get the sniffles, they're hanging onto your skirts like you were the only thing between them and the pearly gates."

"Well then, Mr. Barkley is a perfect example of his gender."

"Lily, if they all looked like him, there'd be fewer spinsters and lot more nurses."

Lily stomped back to the barn, with Agnes's knowing laughter in her ears and the scissors clutched like a dagger in her hand.

Heath Barkley better watch his step or he'd be _needing_ a nurse.  

TBC…


	24. Chapter 24

I'm so sorry that it's been a while.  RL and massive writer's block have conspired to keep me away from my writing and my computer.  

Chapter 24 

As Lily walked to the barn, she knew that she was fixing for a fight.  On one level she could understand that she was unreasonably annoyed with the blond cowboy.  She wasn't so old that she couldn't remember what it was like be on the receiving end of a bit of harmless flirtatious teasing.

That last thought brought her up short.  Flirtatious?  Suddenly Lily felt her skin burn right from her collar to the roots of her hair.  In the last four years, Lily had redefined herself.  When her husband died she thought that that part of her that could be affected by the teasing comments of a man had been buried with her husband.  The few men that had crossed her path had easily been ignored or outright repelled.  Maybe she was mad at Mr. Barkley because there was something about him that she couldn't seem to easily ignore.  

Lily could almost hear Agnes say - wouldn't be 'cause that boy is right pleasin' to the eye now?

Lily ruefully smiled to herself.  Could be Heath Barkley was more "pleasin' to the eye" than any man she'd ever known.  She felt a pang of regret - maybe she was betraying her Paul's memory.  Her husband had been solid, earthy and honest like the fields that he had loved and tended.  No one would call him handsome - not in the same league as this newcomer.  But the light in his dark eyes as shared his dreams with her, held his baby girl in his arms or just held her close, would make her heart swell with love. 

Well, he'd be moving on tomorrow, she thought as she placed her hand on the barn door.  If she were half honest with herself, Lily mused, she'd have to admit that maybe she'd enjoyed verbally crossing swords with the cowboy.  Maybe her annoyance was just about traveling an old road that no longer had any familiar landmarks.  She could at least be civil and enjoy the stranger's beguilingly crooked smile.  She smiled to herself.  Rose had drawn a full-fledged grin from the cowboy.  She wondered what it would take to get one of those for herself?  Somehow, she didn't think that telling Barkley he was "pretty" would work for her as it had for Rose.  Even if she had secretly agreed it was true.   Lily's lips curled in another smile of her own that soon ended in a soft sigh.  In five minutes she's have his stitches out and a few hours after that he'd be on the road headed away from their little cottage.  No sense in making a moon-eyed fool of herself.  She schooled her features and entered the barn.  

A single lantern illuminated the area around the cowboy with its meager golden light, revealing him stooped over the cot spreading the blankets that she had given him a short time ago.  Lily was surprised that Barkley had put his shirt back on and buttoned it up again, though the tails this time were not tucked into his pants.  She'd only been gone ten minutes.  The men she'd met had rarely shown any modestly much less concern for her feminine sensibilities.  Lily was fast beginning to believe that this man was different from most she had known.  

Not realizing that she had stopped, Lily was surprised when the cowboy turned suddenly.  Upon seeing her, his head tilted to the side and he favored her with a rueful half smile.

Half concerned that he'd think she was ogling him - maybe she was just a little disconcerted - she addressed he in what her ears recognized as her "annoyed mommy voice."

"Mr. Barkley."

Almost in the same instant, Heath addressed Lily as well.  

"Miz Stuart.  I…"

Recognizing that he paused thinking that he had interrupted her, Lily raised a quizzical brow and waited for him to proceed.  

Recognizing the opening, Heath forged ahead.  Inexplicably, Heath found himself a bit tongue tided in this lady's presence.  His hand reached up to loosen his collar.  When it reached his throat, Heath realized that it was already unbuttoned.

Clearing his throat, Heath started awkwardly, "Uhh, Miz Stuart.  I owe you an apology.  The banter between your family reminded me of my own.  Guess I got a bit too forward.  Hope you can find a way to forgive me, ma'am."

"Your family?"

"Two older brothers and a younger sister."  

"We reminded you of them?"

There was that little smile again.  "Have to admit Mrs. Stuart is a one of a kind.  But Rose kinda reminds me of my brother Nick."

"My little girl reminds you of your older brother?"

"Nick speaks his mind.  There isn't a shy bone in his body."

"Some might not think that's a very attractive trait in a little girl."

"It's refreshing to hear a woman speak her mind and not defer to others or retreat to her sewing."

Suddenly, Lily was not so sure that they were talking about Rose anymore.

Realizing that his tongue had taken a left turn again, Heath quickly added, "Anyway, there's no sense in you going to the trouble to take out the rest of the stitches.  I'll get them taken out by the doc in Markleeville."

**BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV**

Heath seemed to pull his shirt off reluctantly.  Lily mused that he may only have complied because of the scissors she wielded.  As she gazed at the well muscled back, she smirked to herself that it was most unlikely that Heath Barkley was worried about an attack from a woman half a foot shorter and a world of muscle lighter.  For some inexplicable reason, she regretted his discomfort.

Lily laid a hand just above the bullet wound, her fingers splayed over the taught, tense muscles of Heath's back.  At her touch, the cowboy took in a hitched breath.

Her fingers tingled from the warmth beneath and something else Lily was not ready to identify.  The feeling in her fingers traveled to lodge in her chest.  An odd, heavy feeling lurched in region of her heart, making her consciously aware of the thrum of blood racing now through her veins.  Her touch, so more sensitive than before, made her aware of fine, raised ridges beneath her fingers.  Her eyes followed her touch.  With more careful scrutiny, Lily could make out an entire network of scars that crisscrossed this man's back.

Almost without conscious thought, she lifted her hand and one lone finger traced its way down one of the scars.   

Heath felt the hummingbird touch of Lily's finger as it traced an old wound.    He flinched ever so slightly as the heat of her finger brought back an echo of pain from long suppressed memories.  Self conscious, with years of fielding awkward and longwinded queries, Heath was taken off guard by this gentle young woman's response. 

"Bastards."

Of all the responses that Heath could have anticipated, this was not one of them.  

"What?"  Heath turned his head, expecting to see the same emotions reflected in Lily's eyes he'd seen in so many others...pity, sympathy or revulsion.  What he saw made Heath sense something in Lily that went deeper than physical beauty.  

Her face locked in anger, was met with a rueful smile from Heath.  

"I guess I have to agree with that."

Suddenly embarrassed, Lily realized that her choice of nouns was less than lady-like.

"I, uh, I meant... It's just that I can't imagine the kind of animal...I don't usually use that kind of language."

"I think you got it just right.  War has a way of bringing out the worst in some men.  Sometimes…the best.  I saw both." 

The rest of Heath's body turned around until he was facing Lily.  The anger in her eyes that had been so evident a moment before was replace by a wide-eyed confusion.  

"But you couldn't have been more than a boy."

Heath's steady gaze was a surer confirmation than any strongly voiced affirmative.

Suddenly the child of the man appeared in her mind's eye - tow-headed and slim, not yet filled out into the promise of the man before her.  A dark specter appeared behind the youth, a whip descending toward the unsuspecting boy destroyed the imagine in Lily's imagination as surely as the young man's childhood had been shattered by the winds of war. 

For the second time, Lily swore under her breath and turned away in embarrassment as she felt a betraying moisture in her eyes.

"You must think I'm a silly watering pot of a girl."  

"I can't recall a time when a lady got angry to the point of cussing,"  one of those sweet, wry smiles flickered across his face again, "…at least not on my behalf."   Heath knew that he was playing with fire, but one hand, almost of it's own volition, reached up to wipe a crystalline bit of moisture shed on his behalf.

Emerald eyes as deep and fathomless and rain drenched forest met his and cast a spell that held him in a moment of timelessness.  Heath returned to reality  moments later when he felt the gentle pressure of a small hand on his arm push gently to turn him around again.  After a few more gentle snips from the scissors and gentle fingers smoothed a salve on the healing wound.  Heath held his breath.   He didn't release it until he heard the latch on the barn door drop gently into place.

Just as well, Heath thought.  I'll be leaving in the morning

BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV 

Knuckles were not designed to be punched through stall doors, Nick thought grimly as he eyed the results of his moment of unbridled frustration with his missing brother.  He'd stalked out to the barn because watching the concern and fear grow in the faces of his loved ones in the house was almost impossible for him to endure.  He was a man of action with every avenue for forward momentum in his search for Heath blocked by panned out leads and unanswered inquiries.  

He was just about to leave when he happened to look up at a shadowed corner that held his saddle on a stand.  An envelope lay on the seat of a saddle.  The now too familiar and dreaded script indicated the contents were intended for him.   

Most who knew the dark-haired rancher would have been shocked at the momentary panic that gripped Nick.  As much as he wanted to know where Heath was, he dreaded what he might find out about Heath from the stalker's letter.  

His need to know quickly overcame his dread as he picked up the letter and viciously ripped it open.  

Mr. Barkley, 

You don't seem to be very good at keeping an eye on your brother.  Lucky for you, I'm much better at keeping him in my sights.  If you want to see him alive one last time, you better take the road to Markleeville.  

I'll know if you bring company.

Don't disappoint me.  I'd just hate to disappoint you. 

If you're not alone, you'll soon have the company of one very dead little brother.  

Nick's fingers crushed the paper in a grip that spoke of his desire to do the same to the phantom writer's neck.  He was no fool.  This was a trap and Heath could already be dead.  

Grimly, his hope was placed in the vicious threat of the killer that wished him to be there when Heath died.  If that truly was his intention than heath was still alive.  If Nick could get the jump on the killer, than they had a chance.  

Ironically, Nick feared that if he found his brother before he dealt with the killer – he would be sealing Heath's fate and likely his own.

The crumpled paper fell from nerveless fingers to the barn floor – forgotten…

for now.

**_TBC…_**

****


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25 

When Nick came in from the barn, no one stopped him as he stomped up to his room without a word.  They assumed that he was brooding over the same issue that weighed on them all.  None were aware that another brick had been added to Nick's load.  And in typical Nick-fashion, he was less than enthusiastic about sharing his problems with the rest of the family.  

Running a hand through already tousled ebony hair, Nick examined the choices laid out before him.  Neither was appealing.  To ask for help from Jarrod or the Sheriff might mean Heath's death just as the killer warned in his letter.  To go it alone and follow the stalker's instructions would put him on the defensive.  He would likely walk into a trap that could snare his younger brother as well.  

But he had to _do_ something.  In fact, it was that overriding need that drove him to start packing for a solitary trip to Markleeville.  His mind was so preoccupied that he barely noted what he packed in his saddlebags.  Yet when he looked up, a picture on the chest of drawers caught his eye.  It was of his whole family dressed up to celebrate the holidays – his whole world.  He reached for the picture and took it gently from the mahogany frame.  Looking at it, he vowed that this Christmas there would be a new picture and it would include everyone that was smiling back at him from that frozen moment he held in this hands.  Gently, Nick wrapped the picture in a silk handkerchief and stowed it with the few spare belongings for the trip.

Nick settled into bed, still in his clothes with one arm tucked under his head and staring at the ceiling.  He waited for the sounds of a house winding down for evening's rest.  Finally, sometime after midnight, Nick heard the slow trod of his older brother as he finally called it quits for the night.  Three days ago, when Heath had gone missing, Nick and Jarrod were constantly consulting as they tried to figure out where their brother had gone.  As leads dried up and other avenues of investigation resulted in dead ends, they had less and less to say to each other except to share their increasing worry and frustration.  So it was not surprising that they spoke less and less as time passed.  

This served Nick's purposes fine.  He'd get up early and have breakfast with Silas, then head west to Markleeville.  The family would assume that he was already out to get an early start on his duties around the ranch.  Grimly, he thought that they might even be relieved to avoid the black mood that had settled over him like a damp, heavy fog.  Quietly, for him, he slipped down the stairs and out to the barn to conceal his saddlebags.  Silas would be suspicious if Nick was packing anything more than a gun and lunch for a day's work on the ranch.  Arriving in the barn, Nick stowed his bags behind a bale of hay and hurried back to the house, sneaking back into his room.  He shrugged out of his clothes and sank into bed for a few hours of sleep.  Probably his last in a real bed for several days.  

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Silas was a bit surprised when Nick came down to eat at 5 am.  But the boy ate heartily and informed Silas between forkfuls of scrambled eggs that he was heading out early to work on the fences in the far north pasture.  A long ride, surely, and normally the type of work that Heath preferred.  Nick was normally the one to work more with the other men, but in the last few days had kept more to himself.  Silas shook his head in regret.  For being the loudest Barkley, this boy was often the one least likely to seek anyone else's support or council.  

Nick lit out as soon as he finished breakfast.  His only objectives - find his brother and bring him home.  He needed to avoid his Heath's attempted killer and to that point, he chose to light out across country instead of taking the well-travelled road.  Though the trip would take longer over rough ground, Nick hoped that he'd be less likely to fall prey to the stalker if he avoided making any predictable moves.  

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Unfortunately, Nick had no way to know that he had inadvertently welcomed the villain onto the ranch.  Rawlston found it easy to volunteer to track the boy.  It had served as a good excuse to do just that.  He'd headed back to the Barkley ranch a couple of days later convinced that the kid would probably stick around the homestead.  Rawlston was sure that little filly would work her wiles on the boy and keep him close.  If the kid did move on, he planned to pose as a concerned friend and inquire to the boy's destination or simply follow his tracks.  Word of Nick disappearing from the ranch would spread after a few days and draw Heath Barkley home like a magnet anyway.  The plan was fool proof, Rawlston chucked to himself.

The horse and rider followed Nick at a distance that would keep his pursuer well hidden from view.  Good intentions and good planning would not serve the middle Barkley.   Rawlston would bide his time.  No sense in dragging a reluctant hostage for three days to the younger Barkley.  Let Nick Barkley haul his own carcass to his little brother – or almost.  Rawlston issued the invitation.  He'd make sure that Nick got close enough, but he had special plans for Heath Barkley's party and he wanted to make sure that the present was properly wrapped in insure a satisfying surprise for young Barkley.

TBC… 


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26 

Heath was up before the sun was even a promise in the sky.  Shrugging into his clothes, he headed out to the corral.  He'd seen posts on the side of the barn and gathered them up. The Stewart ladies had treated him well, especially given his slightly disreputable arrival.   If he were staying, the roof would be priority on his list of repairs.  At least he could repair the corral before he headed out.

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Lily was not sure what woke her.  Normally an early riser, she had overslept her normal early morning wake up time.  The blond in the barn was to blame.  She had spent a fitful night thinking about how he made her feel.  Every time she pictured the shirtless cowboy in the candlelight, Lily's heart raced.  She tried to chalk it up to simple lust.  But the moment she said that to herself, she recalled his gentleness with Rose and his sweet, crooked smile.  

But he was leaving in the morning.  Make that now, she thought with some regret.  Maybe his leaving was the sound that had woke her up.  Suddenly, the thought panicked her.  Lily grabbed a robe and wrapped it around herself.  She wasn't sure what her intentions were from one moment to the next, damn it, she needed to know if he was…

He's still here!  Lowering a new post in the ground was the solid manifestation of her evening's dreams.  He looked up and waved and suddenly she was grateful that there was a whole lot of ground between them and not much light yet.  Lily was sure that Barkley would have seen the look of relief on her face a moment ago, and the red stain of embarrassment that tinged her cheeks.  

"Breakfast will be ready within the hour."

Barkley sketched an affirmative wave with barely an interruption in his work.  

Lily whipped into the cabin and stood for a long moment leaning against the inside wall her hand pressed against her heart to still it's racing beat.  Eyes closed, she was lost in thought.  Suddenly she saw surprised out of her wits.

"He's been working at that corral fencing for the better part of an hour."

"Agnes!"  Lily cried as she looked up.  There sitting at the table nursing a cup of coffee was her mother-in-law.  "You nearly made me jump outta my skin.  You should know better than to sneak up on a person like that."

"Sneaking, honey?"  Agnes favored the young woman with a knowing grin.  "I was sitting right here when a small whirlwind flew by and right out the door."

Lily couldn't believe that she could get more embarrassed, except that her cheeks were so hot she was sure that she could fry the morning's eggs on them.  

"Maybe I was a bit preoccupied."

Agnes favored the young woman she thought of as daughter with a knowing smile.  "Maybe, indeed."

Recognizing an argument that she couldn't win, Lily set about wrestling up a breakfast for the four of them.  

About 20 minutes later, fresh biscuits shared the table with ham, eggs and grits.  Really, they wouldn't have made as much for themselves for breakfast.  It had been a long time since she had cooked up a breakfast for a man in the house.  It felt good and reminded her of happy times when they had been a family.  Rose was already up and playing with one of her dolls when her mother had gone to get her dressed.  Curious about the stranger, Rose barely had her dress over her head when she announced that she would tell Mr. Heath that breakfast was ready.  Lily's hesitation only gave Rose the moment she needed to dash out of the house.

"Mister Heath!  Mister Heath!"

Chubby legs running for all they were worth, Heath saw a tiny brunette whirlwind heading in his direction.  

Holding his hands to his left as if holding a cape.

"Uh, oh.  Looks like I'm being charged."  Flourishing the imaginary cape, Heath continued. "Ha, toro!"

A big grin spread on the four-year-olds face.  She stopped halfway to the cowboy and put both hands to her head and stuck out her index fingers to simulate horns.  Waggling chubby little fingers at the cowboy, Rose pawed the ground once and then took off after the cowboy that stood his ground, waving his invisible cape.

With Rose just a few feet away from him, Heath realized that she had no intention of  running through his cape.  He braced himself for the appropriate response to a getting gored by a charging bull – that weighs about 45 lbs.

Little "horns" connected with his thigh just above the knee.  Heath bellowed an exaggerated howl of pain and toppled backward, careful to grab the "bull" under her arms and tuck her onto his chest.  

Lily heard the blond cowboys cry and ran to the door, fearful that something had happened to Rose or Hearth.  What she saw was the two laying in the dirt.  She almost launched herself out the door when she heard Rose's high-pitched giggle.  She paused just inside the doorway to watch.

Laying inelegantly across the cowboy's chest, Rose put fingers up to her head one more time and "gored" the Heath again.  

Heath laughed and said, "Hey, watch it now 'lil bit – I'm ticklish there you know.  Not to mention, bulls are 'sposed to go after the cape."

"I'm smarter than some dumb bull."

"Hmmm – I'm beginning to see that.  Must run in the family."  

Heath stood up, holding the little girl, which to her delight, he tucked onto his hip.

Lily knew she should be outraged at watching this stranger carrying her daughter like a sack of flour on his hip, but as she saw the little girl kick her feet behind the cowboy and stretch out her arms in front like she was flying.  Her heart felt a pain at thinking how Rose's father had missed out on so many moments like this.  Rose didn't know what she had missed growing up without a father.  But it was painfully obvious to Lily that Rose instinctively had found a way to fill the void.  

"OK.  So you're telling me that your mother invited me **_to_** breakfast, not **_for_** breakfast.  I don't think she'd planned for a mad bull to mow me down in front of your house."

Rose only giggled some more.  "I'm not **_mad_**."  

"I'm really happy you came to visit Mister Heath."

Heath shook his head, thinking that his intentions had not started out as - a visit.  But the visit with the ladies of the Steward family had allowed him a reprieve from the dark thoughts that had driven him to their doorstep in the first place.  He'd already started to regret that he would be back on the path to that reality again within the hour.

"What do you have there, Mr. Barkley?"

Startled out of his reverie, Heath looked up to see Lily looking as bright this morning as the flower she was named after.  

"Well now, that story would take some telling.  Let's just say that the rangeland 'round here is safer now that this rogue bull I have here has been corralled."

"Do you think I should be cooking up some Rosie steak with our eggs, Mr. Barkley?"

Rose started to squirm in Heath's arms.  

"You can't eat me, mama!"

"She's right you know Miz Stewart.  I smell bacon.  Don't think steak goes with bacon even if its 'Rosie' steak.  Maybe we can save the steak for dinner?"

Heath put the little one in front of her mama and gave her one last tickle on the ribs.  The giggling girl ran into the house.

"You'll have to catch me first, Mister Heath!"

Heath laughed and called after Rose.  "I'm too weak from hunger right now lil' bit.  Why don't we have a truce and eat some breakfast?"

Lily led the cowboy into the house and to the table that for a long time had not sported a fourth table setting.  Looking around, Heath could see that Lily and Agnes had made themselves a comfortable home.  He sat down at the table and found a plate piled up and placed immediately in front of him.  For a time no one spoke as they enjoyed breakfast.  It was Agnes who finally broke the silence.  

"You've made quite a bit of progress on the corral, young man."  

"Yep"

"It'll take a couple of days to finish."

"I wanted to fix the worst parts for you.  It should hold up until you hire someone to complete the repairs."

"You miss my meaning, boy.  Do you often start things that you don't finish?"

Heath looked up from his food to see Agnes pinning him back with her forthright gaze.  "No ma'am.  I've made a habit of seeing things through all my life."

"Well than, what's stopping you from finishing off the corral."

Heath nearly choked on the eggs that he had just forked into his mouth.  

"I was under the impression that my invitation here expired this morning."

"Well now that's true for the saddle tramp, minus the saddle I might add, that drifted in here yesterday.  But I'm talking to a potential ranch hand and handyman.  So what's your answer?"

"Agnes!"  Lily lifted up her napkin to hide the smile at her mother-in-law's forthright manner.  

Rose looked from her mother to her grandmother in hopeful glee.  When they both smiled at her, she turned a pleading gaze at the blond cowboy.

"Say you'll stay Mr. Heath.  Please!"

For a moment, Heath pondered the trouble that he knew was dogging his trail.  But what could it hurt to stay here just for a few days?

"Sure, why not?  I can get that roof fixed up for you while I'm at it."  

All three of the Stewart women were happy with this change of events for their own reasons.  

Another on the trail of another one of the Barkley brothers would have delighted in this turn of events as it played right into his plans.  In any case, it was about time to close in on his prey and get deliver on the promise that he had made to both of the Barkley brothers.

TBC… 

Ok, I had to set up a reason for Heath to stay in one place for a little while so sorry to all of you that may think that this has been a little thin on the action, not to mention our buddy Nick.  Next chappie is all about Nick when he finally meets up with the real Rawlston - as bad as we know he can be.  


End file.
